


the fifth element sings.

by hoodjin (orphan_account)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 3racha are soundcloud rappers, Air!Felix, Air!Hyunjin, Airbending & Airbenders, Angst, Bending (Avatar), Discrimination, Earth!Jeongin, Earth!Woojin, Earthbending & Earthbenders, Elemental Magic, Fans, Fire!Bang Chan, Fire!Minho, Fire!Seungmin, Firebending & Firebenders, Humor, Idols, Light Angst, Mentioned Other K-pop Artist(s), Musicians, Social Media, Twitter, Water!Changbin, Water!Jisung, Waterbending & Waterbenders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 20:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18818362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/hoodjin
Summary: The South Korean music industry is one of the most popular and demanding in the world; many try to be idols but few succeed - and even fewer of them can 'bend' the elements to their will. Nine boys struggle just to be considered for the top spots, and amidst all the controversies and turmoils, they make it. The Korean public, made up of 51% non-benders, all have varying opinions on the radical decision to debut 9 different benders in one group. After all, music was a non-bender dominated industry - why change it up now?





	the fifth element sings.

**Author's Note:**

> what had happened was... i started watching 'legends of korra,' because i never got into it and just wanted to try it out, and, plot twist, it made me nostalgic (thinking of aang's gang) so this happened. there's avatar elements and references, but it's set in the "real" world, ya feel? hennyways.
> 
> WATCH ME ORPHAN THIS LATER BC I HATE MY OWN RPF AND THINK ITS WEIRD. as always.

 

**BOOK 01. ELEVATIONS (THE DREAM)**

+++[불 ▪ 물]+++

 

 

When Bang Chan brought up the suggestion of becoming idols to the other two-thirds of 3RACHA, he wasn’t expecting such a vaguely optimistic answer.

 

The two younger teens, both barely finishing high school at this point, had been his best friends ever since he moved to Korea and barely spoke a lick of the language with confidence, and they had been making music together out of a studio that they all pooled money for. They were anonymous faces with voices recognized by their twenty-something thousand fans off the internet—and the number was still climbing even until now. So, yes, Chan was surprised that the other two were willingly considering his half-joke of an idea—especially when they had such a semi-secure option right here—keep making music from scratch and hope to make it big, rather than _maybe_ make it by wasting their last slivers of youth away to train for a chance that wasn’t even guaranteed.

 

In fact, the most denial out of them that the young Australian had gotten out of them was from Changbin—Spear B—and all he had said was, “I’d have to ask my parents first.”

 

All Jisung—J.One—had said to the offer was, “Shoot, I’ll audition if you guys audition.” He even shrugged noncommittally, like it was such a light thing they were discussing.

 

This was their _future_ Chan was talking about, and he wanted to hear a little more input, and little more care, a little more umph. Chan couldn’t spend his years wasting away at school for some useless degree that wouldn’t take him anywhere, and he definitely wasn’t going to let his two talented brothers slip through the cracks of society when they could be musical pioneers _. Fuck that._ Christopher Chan Bang has fucking goals— _aspirations._

“Aren’t they supposed to be announcing the Avatar today?” Jisung had brought it up soon after, sprawled on Chan’s aunt’s couch whilst scrolling through his news feed.

 

He had been living with her ever since he moved to Korea. She was cool, and treated Jisung and Changbin like additional nephews—although she did find it funny how Chan managed to build a solid friendship with two hydrokinetics when he came from a lineage of pyrokinetics. Opposites simply attracted.

 

“Oh, yeah!” Changbin jumped up, ecstatic. “I heard it’s a lady again! It’s been a woman the past three centuries! Hyung, turn on the TV.”

 

Chan flicks on the television in the middle of the nice little living room and sits up straighter when he sees the tense atmosphere. The Avatar had yet to show themselves, hiding behind the door of some little cottage in a place that looked remotely like Brazil, but Chan wasn’t sure. As shown by the drone footage, there were crowds upon crowds with fan signs posted up sending love and well wishes to this generation’s supreme minister of peace/keeper of balance/chosen one. It was more serious than any royal wedding—this was a messiah people were waiting for; someone to stop wars before they started and help encourage others to do right and leave an epic legacy. Chan gets a bit lost in thought, thinking about the burdens of possibly being the Avatar—which he wanted to be as a kid so bad. They’re the king of the world, but it’s forced upon them, and they have to protect everyone else from their own human idiocy. _A mess._

 

Chan runs a hand down his face and Changbin basically screams, narrating every moment. “Here they come! They’re ‘boutta open the door!”

 

Changbin was arguably a bigger Avatar fanatic than anybody, ever. Or at least, more than Jisung and Chan were, that’s for sure.

 

Jisung looks up from his phone, glances at the screen, and juts out his lower lip. “Wow. She’s hot.”

 

He doesn’t even say it in a flirtatious way like he was admitting attraction; he was just stating facts. The girl was a beautiful mocha-skinned girl who was natively an airbender named Imani Gil, and just like Chan thought, she was Brazilian. On screen, she began demonstrating her abilities and explaining how she found out while she was cooking with her mother, only to nearly accidentally burn the house down—without turning on the stove first. Sounds about right. That’s pretty much how _everyone_ discovers they can manipulate fire.

 

 

+++[지구]+++

 

 

Woojin beat his opponent for the second time in a row, and since they were betting best two out of three, Sejoon owes him dinner.

 

They drop the wooden swords a bit too haphazardly on the mat and almost instantaneously drop, breathing heavily through the wires of their masks which they were too lazy to remove. Kendo looked majestic as ever, but it was a physically taxing sport—especially after three consecutive rounds with someone who’s basically your chaotic extreme equal—it just makes a match long. But that’s what made this win feel good.

 

Woojin feels around for his water bottle, too drained to stand up just yet, and finds it, drowning in his triumph and chugging from the bottle like a baby. The sweat had soaked his hair flat to his forehead, and he cringes a bit at the sight of his fringe tangling in his face.

 

Sejoon offers a hand, wordlessly telling the champ to get up. Woojin accepts.

 

After toweling off and removing all the excessive and hot—it was so hot—gear, the last two at the gym lock up the place and grab their bags to head out.

 

“What do you wanna eat, Jinnie? Please make it cheap. I’m broke.”

 

Woojin smiles a little toothy grin with his lovely imperfect teeth and shoves the other playfully as they walk into the nighttime streets. “Just for that I should ask for a twelve course meal fit for a king.”

 

The other narrows his eyes at him, playing along, “Oh, you wouldn’t dare!”

 

“Give me the winner’s special. Chicken!” Woojin clarifies, “A king sized bucket because I kicked your butt.”

 

“My wallet’s gonna cry tonight, huh?”

 

Woojin nods. “Sure is.”

 

After a while the pep in his step decreases, even while the other is skipping under streetlights like he was in that old film, _‘Singing in the Rain.’_ His friend notices the jarring shift in demeanor and frowns when he sees it.

 

“Come on, Woojin, the chicken place is literally right around the corner. Turn that damn frown all the way upside-down.”

 

“I can’t…” Woojin started, remembering what’s been on his mind for the past two months, as he always did when they did these after-training walks to go eat. “I… You know how I like to sing, right?”

 

Sejoon nods. “And play guitar and piano, amongst other things. Why?”

 

“Well then you also know how my dad wants me to be a pro athlete, too, with either bending, Kendo, or kickboxing, yeah? I’ve been doing some thinking… and I just… I don’t think those are the paths for me.” He waits to gauge the other’s reaction, because saying something that out-of-the-blue deserves a reaction. Woojin needed to hear how crazy his idea sounded from an outside source; not just the pesky voice in his head.

 

“You’re dropping MMA?” The other asks, nearly choking on his own saliva as he does. “You’re like a prodigy. People have had eyes on you for like, a decade. Since you were a _kid,_ Woojin.”

 

“I don’t want to say dropping. But I don’t want to guarantee that I’ll stay. I love martial arts, I do; from Kendo, to kickboxing, and earthbending,” he pauses, carefully reading the expression of his non-bender companion, “but I think we all know that I never loved it as much as my dad does. This… this whole thing is _his_ path for me. I started it for fun, but my dad wants the end result to be a pro career—he said he wanted me to be an Olympian. An Olympic earthbender… That’s… a lot. I don’t want that. I want to do what I love, but I want it to be what I _want.”_

“I… get that. Kinda.”

 

“Kinda’s all you need,” Woojin nods. “I want to admit to him that I’m taking a break from the sports to test something new out.”

 

“You said you wanted to sing, but you’re sounding like you’re thinking of bigger moves that just that. There’s a difference between wanting to sing and wanting to be an idol, Jinnie. My cousin trained for four years and got snubbed. It’s a harsh game. A dirty one.”

 

“I can play dirty. I just have to be the best.”

 

“I’m not even talking about you… I’m talking about the big bosses, corporate heads.” He exhales, opening the door to Woojin’s favorite chicken joint, “But if this is something you really wanna do, then, _shit,_ I’ll be cheering you right on.”

 

 

+++[공기]+++

 

 

Felix inhales the unfamiliar, inorganic Korean air with a huff and a shudder, shrugging his backpack higher up on his shoulders and tugging his carrier like he clearly didn’t belong here.

 

And okay, maybe, despite what his ethnic makeup says, he doesn’t belong here—and he feels as much of an outsider as he is—but he’ll be damned twice over if he doesn’t make his mark while he is here.

 

A representative should be waiting for him. They had his photos and name and everything, and that in itself made Felix’s muscles tense. Here he was in Seoul City, waiting for somebody under JYP Entertainment to pick him up, drop him off, and box him in. He suddenly feels extra queasy and homesick, regretting whatever scam he must’ve signed up for.

 

But it doesn’t matter if he regrets anything at this point now does it? His grip tightens once he sees the man, clad in business casual black attire and looking absolutely _secure_ of himself and _crisp_ and _clean,_ and it does nothing for him but dampen his mood when Felix looks down and sees his scraped knees showing themselves through his ripped jeans.

 

“Lee Yongbok?” The man asks just to be absolutely sure. “Pill licks?”

 

Felix rolls his unmarked shoulders and exhales. He’s an airbender—light as air, walking on sunshine, sleeping on clouds, all that good jazz—he’s got this. He looks the grown man straight in his eyes and answers like some sort of cadet, “Yes sir. Felix Lee.”

 

He couldn’t reel away in embarrassment now; he was already in too deep.

 

 

+++[불]+++

 

 

Minho was soaked thoroughly in sweat and annoyance.

 

Being one of the youngest of the dancers didn’t make him feel any less strained—there were eyes constantly on him, making sure he got every move right and had his foot at a uniform angle to everyone else; but there were also the eyes of those wishing to baby him or downplay his abilities.

 

As if he wasn’t made for this.

 

With every freestyle that occurs after a stressful day of picking up seemingly inhumane choreographies from six different Big Hit dance instructors, he shows every trainee, backup dancer, senior, and junior why they always had his young ass in the front next to the stars. He was destined to become one of them. Behind the groups hugs after a well-done performance, the congratulations of seeing one of their own leave the nest for debut, there were jealous comments and gripes, coming mostly from the arrogant newbies who had absolutely no idea what the hell they really signed up for. Being a backup dancer was a prerequisite to being an idol, because backstage, they’re all one and the same—performers for a company’s brand.

 

So now, when one noona turns on a familiar Usher song, Minho feels his body move and he lights it on _fire._ He was still a chubby-faced teen, but he was in his element when he drowned into the wells of a smooth hook in a smooth song. Every movement he made was graceful, only jagged and sharp and glassy when absolutely necessary. The other dancers circle around him, cheering for him and only blessing him with extra bursts of energy that come out of the depths of himself, and he naturally feels his hands heat up, and he hears the faint crackling of flames.

 

The other dancers cheer louder, although the circle has backed out a bit, giving him some space. He circles his arms and marvels at his own flame show for a split second before striking an ending pose and smirking. Every explosive movement he made generated and radiated goodness and _light._

 

The smirk melts off his face into a shyer, subtler quirk of the lips and he laughs, putting his face in his hands when everybody else around him starts hyping his head up and ruffling his shoulders.

 

Minho knows he can dance, that’s a given _. Everyone_ knows Minho can dance.

 

But he’s also been practicing his singing, too, and he thinks, with a bit more of a professional push, he can actually be center stage one day. He wants to be the beau of the ball, and he can be. He believes it with a conviction. He’s wanted to be on stage since he could talk, so he didn’t care how much money people threw at him to stay an accessory in the background—he didn’t want that anymore.

 

Even Park Jimin had agreed with him. It was strange, talking to the older male, who was not only a non-bender but a world-class superstar if Minho had ever seen one. A lot of non-bender idols were told to be cautious around benders they didn’t know too well, because they weren’t sure of their level of control; plus, Minho was an adolescent boy, which was a whole n’other red flag that the senior performer basically stepped on.

 

He had hopped into his conversation with no remorse and great advice.

 

“You think you’ve got what it takes?” He had genuinely asked. “Because by all means, I would love to see you on that stage dancing to your own song. It feels _way_ different, and I have a feeling you’d enjoy that.”

 

Minho had stared at him wide-eyed in silent shock. But later on that day, he let the idol’s words absorb into his mind. Yes! Minho’s greatest, wildest dream is to dance for himself.

 

 

+++[불]+++

 

 

Seungmin carefully, tactfully, cautiously, _and_ heedfully led his finger to his eye, head practically pressed to the bathroom mirror as he reached for the clear contact lens that had served as an extra layer of the organ.

 

God, he hated being nearsighted. He was hoping the trait would somehow wiggle out of his gene pool by the time he hit this big age, but apparently not.

 

He exhales a sigh of relief when he manages to get both contacts out without scratching his eyeballs. He kind of needed those, even if they were half-functional.

 

He desperately craved a shower—a scalding hot one, at that.

 

So he peels off his layers of clothes, the ugly school uniform left in heaps on the floor, before he steps into the spray of shower water. He lets his scalp get soaked through his hair and he sighs as water runs down his face and weighs down his eyelashes. As the water gradually heats up to a more comfortable degree, Seungmin feels his muscles relax ever-so-slightly, particularly in his back. He grabs his strawberry scented shampoo and squirts the last remnants of it into his hands before proceeding the lather the pink goo into his hair. His body tingles at the welcomed sensation, and he starts humming.

 

He had a vocal evaluation tomorrow. His coach said she was expecting ‘big things.’

 

 _Crap,_ and he thought he could sleep on this fine Friday night.

 

His self-care activities are cut short when he rinses his hair and steps out of the shower without conditioning. He burns his shower curtains because of the sheer force of his grip and how… _peeved_ he is. There was never a day he wasn’t doing something, or practicing something, or getting ready for something!

 

But he had to keep pushing, keep straining his vocals until his coach saw some sort of spark; he needed the validation, he needed the proof that he had what it takes.

 

Seungmin stares at his notebook full of tips from the coach that he only half-read. He groans exasperatedly, and when he ruffles his own hair, water droplets rain onto his notebook.  He had diligently jotted down all those notes only to not want to read them. What _is_ that?

 

His pajama shirt was barely buttoned and didn’t quite hang right on his body when he decides to crack open his laptop and go hunting on YouTube for a song to present. His computer-assigned agent was just going to have to deal with the Seungmin he saw.

 

He chooses one song, and after many indecisive minutes—and shadowboxing the poor air around him with flaming fists due to his nerves—he settles for a favorite of his instead.

 

‘Congratulations’ by Day6.

 

He clears his throat, and breathes.

 

 

+++[지구]+++

 

 

Jeongin sank his toes into the hot sands of the beach and smiles, embracing the horizon as much as he can.

 

He’s lucky to live so close to the beach, to the point where he can run outside with his brothers and watch the sunset almost every night.

 

The sky is an oil painting of blues, pinks, oranges, and grays, and Jeongin thinks it looks different every time he sees it. Sometimes he can see a few constellations—he doesn’t know their names, but he recognized that some stars just burned brighter than others.

 

Amidst his daydreaming, his little brother would toss sand at him, like a little _twerp,_ and Jeongin would toss sand back, bending the granules with the wiggle of his fingers and the flick of his wrist.

 

If their mother had ever seen the type of stuff they did at the beach, she would be it utter shock. Disappointed, even. She hated bending—or at least, was an active pretender, who actively tried to hide the fact that she was an earthbender with earthbending children even though nothing was objectively wrong with that. The bender to non-bender ratio was basically even, yet people still shoved the notion down people’s throats that these gifts were unnatural. Unfortunately, their mother was a victim of that. So she never learned how to compromise with her ability and never taught her children how to use theirs. Their father was a non-bender, meaning they were really stuck, because two out of his three kids were _unnatural._

 

The closest Jeongin and his younger brother had gotten to _real_ earthbending was throwing rocks at each other by pointing their fingers, yet Jeongin ended up with a chipped tooth as a result. They lied about it and said it was a soccer accident. Now, almost—and Jeongin cannot stress this enough—an adult, all Jeongin can do is lift sand at most, while others have the strength to move mountains.

 

He feels underused.

 

His lip twitches at the thought. Yes, bending sand was hard enough as is, and a sought after art form by many earthbenders worldwide, and the fact that he could even lift those tiny particles of sand—with no sort of training—was an achievement in its own right, but still.

 

Jeongin puts his hands on his hips just as the sun begins to lower itself into the distant sea. He smiles, and his braces glimmer, all the while tearing at the inside of his cheek, eating him alive.

 

He had built a resistance to that particular pain.

 

On the bright side, even if he couldn’t use one gift, he could use the other.

 

His unique voice.

 

His little brother attempts to pull him out of his own head by spraying sand at his face, but Jeongin repels it with a hand raised.

 

“Not this time, twerp,” he jokes.

 

 

+++[공기]+++

 

 

One day at school, Hwang Hyunjin went around asking people a certain array of questions, all centered around one central topic.

 

_Can you see me as a singer? Could I be an idol? Do you think I could be in a group? What agency could I fall under? Do you think I can make it?_

The responses he got were not as diverse as he had hoped.

 

He asked a pretty girl clique—the ones who sit at their own lunch table and have crippling fears of lesbians despite surrounding themselves with gay best friends—and they had said something that bothered him. It truthfully hurt his feelings a little bit. But he shouldn’t have been so surprised that something that shallow had come from their mouths.

 

Shin Jihye had told him straight up, while whipping a dyed brown strand of hair out of her face. “Are you asking us based off your looks? Or are you asking if we think you’re talented?”

 

She had laughed but he had frowned, and he turned off before he could cry in front of them. He still could hear her loud friend, Kim Mishil, cackling in the distance. He steered his way to another table full of nerdy kids who brought their Nintendos to school. Hyunjin didn’t mind them. They let him play with them sometimes.

 

But their answers were no better. Choi Geurin had slurred through her retainer, barely looking up from her screen at his fake interview mic—a pencil—and said with a disastrous shrug, “I mean, you’re pretty handsome… conventionally, so.”

 

Hyunjin’s mouth hung open and he looked to her friend, Jeon Byeongso, for some uplifting words. Unfortunately the boy’s agreement saddened him more.

 

“Yeah, I mean, a good-looking guy like you wouldn’t struggle in that field. They’d fight for pretty faces like that. SM would.”

 

Hyunjin walks all over the cafeteria to all the various social groups before he finally decides to ask the pariahs. He shudders in their gothic presence. They couldn’t deviate too hard from the school uniform; but the subtle things, like changing white dress shirts for black, and dark lipsticks, and dangling inverted cross and skull earrings, along with ripped stockings on the girls and silver chains on their pants for the guys… let Hyunjin know they were willfully deviant. He sort of admired that but he was too scared to let them know anything about how he felt towards them, positive or negative.

 

Sol Siwon promptly scooted forward, biting away at her lazily thrown together turkey sandwich, “What do you want?”

 

Hyunjin flinched, spitting it out. “Could I be an idol?”

 

She shrugs and her friends snicker at his awkward delivery and stiffness.

 

“You can be whatever you wanna be.” She said clearly after a bout of awkward silence.

 

Lee Minjoo nodded his head in agreement. Hyunjin was a bit distracted by the eyebrow piercing he somehow managed to sneak past all the administrators.  But when he did listen, he heard something great. “If you’ve got the guts to try out for that shit, then I don’t think you should let anyone or anything stop you. But what do I know, right?”

 

“No, no, thanks,” he had said speedily. “I think I really, really needed to hear that.”

 

“Plus you’ve got nothing to fear. You’re an airbender, right?” Minjoo added; his non-bender jealousy showing clearly.

 

But his was more like infatuation.

 

To his left, his girlfriend with the unnaturally long, dark hair, Baek Chorong interjects. “Can’t you all fly and stuff?”

 

“Some can, some can’t. I can’t. Plus… it’s highly illegal. Did you not know that?” Hwang Hyunjin winces at his word choice. He sounded a bit condescending. “Dangerous air traffic, you know,” he laughs dryly, pulling his sleeves lower to hide the blue arrows peeking on his hands. “Well, thanks for that. Buh-bye!” He dashes off.

 

He spent his whole lunch period eating disappointment and disdain instead of the colorful meal his mom packed for him.

 

Looks. Visuals. Aesthetics. Handsomeness. Beauty. Angel. Beau.

 

Hyunjin was more than a pretty face. He was more than an airbender, too.

 

He was Hyunjin.

 

He’d prove it. He’ll be a main something, and it wasn’t going to be visual.

 

 _Main dancer_ sounds more of his style anyways.

 

 

**BOOK 02. KINESTHETIC (THE CHASE)**

+++[물]+++

 

 

“You’re what?” Changbin’s father, a traditional ice chief, said. “No. Absolutely not.”

 

“But dad!”

 

“When Hell freezes over!” His father retorted with a booming voice.

 

It’s gonna have to freeze over _today._

 

Changbin backed off slightly, but he still stood solidly, determined to prove his point.

 

“I refuse to let you two have a shouting match in my kitchen,” Changbin’s mother had said, seemingly materializing out of thin air to calm the duo.

 

“But this boy, this _child,”_ his dad started, seemingly at a loss for words. He never really was, though, and that was both good at times and bad at times. “He’s made a reckless choice. Look, Changbin, I’ve allowed you to play those little songs with your friends in that little _Fire & Ice_ group for—”

 

“It’s 3RACHA.” Changbin corrected in a mumble under his breath. “It’s _been_ 3RACHA; Fire & Ice was just some headass idea we threw out there.”

 

His father took a breath, calming himself. “Alright, alright. Changbin, I don’t want you to feel like we can’t have conversations anymore but… I genuinely can’t wrap my head around it. Why are you banking everything on this music career? What’s plan B if it doesn’t take off?”

 

“It’s gonna take off.” He says with a foreign conviction neither of his parents were used to seeing.

 

“That’s it? Changbin, that’s not very proactive.”

 

And okay, yeah, his father was right, but Changbin had selective proactivity and it wasn’t reserved for schooling or the common workforce.

 

Changbin felt gutsy, so he asked a genuine question that halfway came across as him being smart-mouthed. “Is being a sales’ rep your passion, dad?”

 

There was a dead pause, and even his mother looked at him sideways. They weren’t computing.

 

“What do you mean?” His mom inquired.

 

They knew what the hell he meant, they just wanted to make sure _he_ knew what he was asking and what type of answer he wanted.

 

“You know what I mean, mom,” Changbin deadpans. “I’m not a child anymore. You guys wanted me to make independent decisions, here’s my independent decision. I get that you’re worried about if I’ll be able to live off of that, but trust, I’ll be making money and making both of you proud!” He says brightly, trying to get them to see the bigger picture.

 

“But your name and your face will be blasted everywhere if that’s the case.” His mom softly interjects. Changbin realizes he really is both of them wrapped in one. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

 

He shrugs, naively responding, “No. I don’t think.”

 

His father thought for a long, hard second, which may as well have spanned for hours. Changbin had been subliminally hinting that he wanted to live off his music and he _meant_ that one-hundred percent; it was just that now that the inevitable moment had come where he said it with his mouth, his father didn’t know how to deal. No ‘raising your teenager 101’ book could help him now.

 

The worst part was, he couldn’t even try to discreetly discourage him with the old ‘that’s everybody’s dream, what are the odds’ scare. Changbin knew he had a homogenous dream but he also knew that he could do it.

 

Spear B is one hell of a rapper. He can actually spit!

 

He knows he can make it, for sure, especially with the help of Chan and Jisung. All he needed were those two and an endless supply of love and support from his parents.

 

“What about becoming an ice chief?” His father had asked him. “I can’t pass down the mantle if you’re always going to be travelling.”

 

“Dad, you’re still too young to pass the title over… Enjoy it first.”

 

“I want you to enjoy it. Your older sister has already become an ice chief.”

 

Typically, the if the mother was an ice chief, she’d pass down the title to the first child, while the father passes the title down to the second—if there’s more than two kids, only the first one gets the honor. If neither of the parents were ice chiefs, they couldn’t pass it down to their kids. Luckily, both of Changbin’s _were_ —unlike Jisung’s—and he only had one elder sister, yet he only vaguely remembered his mom passing the honorary title over to her on her birthday in this niche ceremony.

 

“I… enjoy rapping. Now. I’ll enjoy being an ice chief… later.”

 

“Well then, if you absolutely, positively want to do this… then… go for it.”

 

Changbin’s entire face lit up, eyes wide and excited. He jumped a little, reminding them of the little hyperactive boy they had raised. “Really? Thanks, love you!”

 

Thus, Changbin landed his audition with his boys, and voila, they eventually passed!

 

Changbin had called his parents, telling them that JYP wanted to train him; one of the biggest in the nation’s most cutthroat industry wanted _him_ and that could only be a good sign!

 

His ecstasy was soon shot down by absolute anxiety when he found out how quickly he had to move out of the house and into dorms.

 

Every time he thought back to his hometown while staring out of his window in his cramped, tiny room, he sighed. He wondered what his old friends were doing, but he was too much of a pansy to pick up the phone and ask. He really wasn’t proactive.

 

Jisung had pulled him out of his melancholy thoughts with an announcement. “The CEO wants to see us,” he had said after two weeks of living in a stuffy dormitory. It felt like boarding school, and now they were headed to meet the headmaster face to face.

 

“I’m going to piss my pants,” Changbin sighs.

 

“He wants to talk to us?” Chan had said incredulously when the news had been relayed to him.

 

Jisung nodded. “Lace up, boys,” he clasped his hands together, “we’re meeting the big boss.”

 

 

+++[물]+++

 

 

Sitting in front of JYP’s roundtable, in a brightly lit, glass-wall board room, with hands awkwardly folded in some sort of kindergarten learning position, the three young rappers rattled in their seats. Jisung had taken a liking to straightening his pant leg every few agonizingly long seconds, even though there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. Chan had an interesting habit of practically tearing away at his lower lip, like some sort of ancient, anxious Australian beast. Changbin’s leg was bobbing uncontrollably.

 

The youngest of the trio suddenly comes to the realization that he agrees with the middle child; Jisung was going to piss himself.

 

Just as he was beginning to accept his weakness, the big man himself appears in his discombobulated outfit with a megawatt dad smile that does nothing to really ease the nerves of the three boys.

 

The older man cracks a joke, attempting youth’s slang which ended up sounding super weird coming from him.

 

Jisung cracks first, with a gummy, squirrel-cheek smile to boot.

 

“Yeesh, you all are killing the mood,” the boss had said airily.

 

The older two simultaneously cracked afterwards and the atmosphere lightened ever so slightly.

 

The man takes a seat, cutting right to the chase. “I liked your performance. When you all had requested to audition as a unit, I was admittedly a bit iffy, because people obviously want to work with their friends, but someone always outshines the other—it’s just the way it goes,” he clarifies when he hears all of their breaths hitch in sync, “Friends don’t want to harshly criticize other friends because they’re afraid of discouraging them, even if they needed to hear the criticism. But I’ve got to say, I was pleasantly surprised by you all. Not only were you all on roughly equal planes in terms of ability, but it was complimentary as well.”

 

Jisung exhales and plays with his fingers underneath the tabletop.

 

“Thank you, sir.” Chan had spoken up respectfully on their behalf. He did always lead their operations. Changbin looked like he couldn’t speak, lips frozen shut, and his entire body was rigid like an ice sculpture, intently listening to everything that was being said and trying to process it all.

 

The boss man continues, asking some general questions while analyzing their portfolios.

 

“I know your age ranges; you three are born from 1997-2000, hm?” He stated, rhetorically, looking at the numbers staring him in the face on their sheets. “Well, besides rap, do you have any other specialties? Starting with you, Mr. Bang Chan. You look quite familiar.”

 

Chan laughs bashfully, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Actually,” he started, “I used to be a backup dancer here a few years back…”

 

“Ah, really?”

 

The others sat up even straighter, if possible. This was news to them.

 

Chan had tried to hide all pictures of him at nine years-old dancing on stage next to a pre-debut Bambam of GOT7 and a pre-debut Chaeyoung of Twice. Some things didn’t need to be mentioned if no one asked.

 

“Yes,” he replies. “I used to dance a lot with Bambam especially.”

 

“But you weren’t a trainee?”

 

“Not technically, yeah. But I would say my other specialties are dancing and singing. And, I guess, speaking English?”

 

“Singing…” the man had muttered. “We’ll have to test that soon enough. But I knew you looked familiar. It’s… good to have you back on the winning team.” The trio smiled at his wits. He looks to Jisung, twiddling a pen in his hand. “What about you, Mr. Han?”

 

“I, uh, I sing a little. It’s not extraordinary but… I don’t think it’s trash, either.”

 

“Confidence! This is like a job interview; be sure of yourself! Act like you’re the best!”

 

“Okay.” Jisung had said with a meek nod, not at all heeding his advice. As if comparing this job interview to a job interview made it any easier.

 

“You. Mr. Seo. What’s your specialty?”

 

Changbin hadn’t really thought of anything else he was good at besides rap. What more did he really need? However, the expectant gazes up on him did nothing to sooth his anxieties, so he just conjured an answer out of nothing. “My deep voice,” he said lowly, for extra pizazz.

 

“You know… You’re not the deepest voice out of the JYPE trainees.” He pronounced JYPE like a single word instead of an acronym. It was weird. He looks between the three of them. “There’s another Australian, a dancer… Who’s... What’s that word? Ah, um, yes, aero… something.”

 

Chan audibly chokes on thin air upon hearing the news. He coughs. “There’s another Australian? And he’s an aerokinetic?”

 

“Yes, you’ll all be training together.”

 

“Really?” Chan had said softly, as if somehow this Australian boy was going to give him a taste of home again.

 

“You seem quite excited. Are you benders as well?”

 

Jisung’s fingers twitch at the question, not knowing if it was wiser to fake it or be flat-out blunt with the man. He glances at the uncapped water bottle next to him, looking at it thirstily. “Yes, but—” he felt the immediate need to defend his case, “I can control it.”

 

Jisung took it upon himself to do something with his hands, because if he didn’t, he’d go absolutely bonkers with tension at this point. 

 

He slid his hands slowly together, centering at his chest, motioning at the water for it to come towards him like an obedient pet. The water was floating carefully out of the bottle towards him in a smooth, clear stream. He makes a fist, and the water coheres to itself, forming a little ball, copying his motion. He motions for it to glide back into the man’s water bottle, satisfied with the dumbstruck look on his face.

 

“So you bend water. Do all of you?”

 

“No,” the other two quickly answered, with Changbin not-so-subtly pointing towards the older Australian.

 

“I bend fire,” Chan smiles, happy that someone was finally sincerely interested in his ability. He demonstrates, doing the classic ole match trick that his mother had taught him. He slides his thumb along his opposite hand’s palm and makes a small flame sit on the appendage.

 

“And you, Changbin?”

 

“I bend water. But I have a penchant for ice.”

 

“Show me,” the man commanded, leaning forward with his interest piqued.

 

“Spill some water on the table.”

 

Once the water pooled on the wooden table in some odd shape, Changbin placed a hand over it, drawing it upwards and interacting with it in the same way that iron shavings interact with a magnet. He lets it slosh around a bit like a living being before curling his fingers inwards above it, watching as it turns into a sparkly layer of frost on the table.

 

“So two waterbenders and one fire,” the CEO states, “How’re you all so compatible?”

 

 _Yes, yes, and yes._ They were a group comprised of opposite elements, getting along and working together like an oiled machine, as they should. Big whoop. Two hydrokinetics and one pyrokinetic, and they all produce hits _together_ as bros, as they should!

 

As if they hadn’t heard that one before. Jisung’s partially tempted to roll his eyes, but he wouldn’t, because that’s just rude and unprofessional and this was technically an interview with one of the hottest music stars of his parents’ generation. He should chill out.

 

But jeez, non-benders could be so ignorant—even if they’re just messin’ around.

 

They laugh dryly at his dowdy, overused joke.

 

He continues. “I can see you three getting big. Together. You just need a little extra push.”

 

Jisung raises a hand slightly, before pulling it back down, realizing he looks absolutely childish. “Aren’t you worried about… I don’t know… people thinking we’re too radical… because of…”

 

He didn’t say it but they all knew what he was referring to. The thought had been clawing at the back of his mind ever since this company accepted them.

 

Could they even be allowed to debut together like they wanted to?

 

The general public had given Twice a hard time for having three firebenders, and the hate was amplified by the fact that it was the Japan line—they saw it as some sort of insult to the Korean population, calling them inferior in some way—which wasn’t the case! Mina, Sana, and Momo just made the cut, like everyone else. Eventually the hate gradually subsided but there were always a few people with their bigoted comments.

 

Yet and still, JYPE was no stranger to having benders in their groups, but the number was always very conservative, three or less. But never _three out of three._ That was different. With Twice, 1/3 of the group are elemental, with GOT7, 1/7 of the group was elemental with Youngjae also being a firebender. If 3RACHA debuted as just the three of them, they’d never gain traction because people would feel like they couldn’t relate. Plus, people gravitated towards options, so having at least five members was always ideal, so that every fan had their favorite. Three just _wasn’t_ the magic number. JYP knew that.

 

He would have to expand the trio past just three.

 

He could do that.

 

 

+++[불]+++

 

 

When Minho passed the JYP audition, the feeling of surrealism and self-satisfaction was overwhelming. He was one baby-step closer to his goal. His dance was good enough. And he didn’t flame up not once either!

 

He had gotten complimented on his charisma and eye-catching facial expression when he dances. One older judge had said he liked his groove.

 

Minho couldn’t be happier, and he knew he earned his place within the company, even if it was just a trainee for the time being.

 

But now, standing in front of a translucent door to a both bright and dark dance studio, he was scared again. He could count at least three other bodies in the vicinity and Minho wasn’t exactly the best with clicking with new people right off the bat.

 

To his knowledge this was everybody’s first encounter with one another, so why does the body in the red hoodie somehow manage to snag everyone else in the room with his gravitational pull?

 

Social skills, they were few and far between nowadays.

 

Minho takes a deep breath before habitually running his tongue along his top row of teeth. He should chill out.

 

He twists the cold doorknob and is met with various sets of eyes on him. One pair of eyes were attached to a body that was midway through stretching the boy’s back. Other eyes were secured to bodies that were practicing breathing techniques and flow switches. The eyes belonging to the boy in the ketchup red hoodie landed straight on him.

 

Minho was slightly shell-shocked, concluding that he’ll be taking dance classes with rappers.

 

Red sweater guy, with his hair dyed ashy blond, finally properly introduces himself upon seeing Minho’s default wave.

 

“G’day, I’m Bang Chan.” He had busted out the ole ‘g’day’ to get the younger dude to loosen up a bit. It worked, but also simultaneously energized Felix—who was on the other end of the room stretching—making him cheerfully, and annoyingly, shout the phrase as well.

 

Minho laughs at this and his square teeth and well-shaped lips show a curious smile. “You’re Australian?” He asked, a bit astonished. He didn’t even know the company held auditions that far south.

 

The foreigners nod, and the other two hop up, formally introducing themselves as Chan’s fully culturally Korean brothers.

 

“How are you Korean when you told me your name was Peter Han?” Felix jokingly says, poking at his day-older-than-him friend. He teases some more. “Peter Pan.”

 

Jisung jumps, explaining, “It’s a long story!” He turns over to a very bewildered looking dancer, swiftly adding, “My name’s Han Jisung. I rap.”

 

Changbin nods, “I’m a rapper, too. Seo Changbin.”

 

“We make up 3RACHA,” Chan further explain, stretching his left arm across his chest with a muffled groan. His bones popped.

 

Minho nodded, impressed. He wasn’t going to pretend he knew all about their music, but that means they were just like him. They were people who were dedicated to perfecting their craft _before_ all the fame, fortune, and notoriety. He respected that. He’d have to look them up later. He questions them, “How long have you all been making music together?”

 

“A few odd years,” Changbin shrugs, before asking, “Shouldn’t some other trainees be joining us?”

 

Felix interposed, “And a teacher.”

 

“Choreographer,” Chan corrected affably.

 

The door slowly swung open again, revealing a new face.

 

His features were angular and masculine like a marble bust, yet his voice and demeanor were much softer when he gratuitously introduces himself. “Hi… um, my name’s Kim Woojin.”

 

His sleeves were way past too long and that was absolutely adorable.

 

Felix smiles at him and offers a wave. “I’m Felix.”

 

“Feel legs?”

 

Felix huffs, slowly but steadily becoming used to the innocent mispronunciations of his name. There’s neither and F nor X sound in Korean. So now he realizes his mother scammed him when she named him that. From the first letter to the last, his name was a setup. She pulled a fast one on him, _seriously._

“I’m Aussie.” He elaborated. That phrase was one of the first things he’d learned to say fluently, and it was probably one of the most useful. “From Sydney. So is Chris.”

 

“Chris?”

 

Minho perks up at this. There was a Peter from who-knows-where and now there was a Chris from Australia? How diverse could one teensy room get?

 

Chan raises his hand and Minho honestly should’ve expected that. How did he miss all those the context clues?

 

“But you can call me by my Korean name, Bang Chan.”

 

The room’s attention suddenly drifts to Felix, who pauses, not knowing what to do at the sudden shift of atmosphere. He was just stretching, what’d he do?

 

“What’s your Korean name?”

 

“Um, uh,” he fumbles, hard, running his syllables together like it was supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. “It’s Lee Yongbok.”

 

“Huh.” Woojin tilted his head. “I never would’ve guessed.”

 

“You can call me Felix though. Please.”

 

“Okay, Fee licks,” Woojin politely agreed, “Nice to meet you all.”

 

Minho decides to keep his flaming secret hidden away with a mental lock and key.

 

Woojin does the same, glad that he was no longer in an arena to decide who the fiercest youth boxer and/or geokinetic champion was. That setting was getting boring. Predictable. Fight, win! Fight, lose!

 

They were here to dance and they were here to sing. That’s it and that’s all. But it was spicier.

 

When the choreographer finally arrives, he greets with a sly remark. “Did you all become friends yet?”

 

There was a strained hum of agreement amongst the boys. They were cordial with each other but… this was their first meeting. That guy needed to calm down.

 

“Well, hopefully you stretched in that time. I want teamwork to translate through this first session. Understood? Help me help you by helping one another.”

 

Minho rolled his neck, hand heating only to massage the crick that made its way over and reared its ugly head. He had forced himself to tone it down a little for his audition, so he didn’t scare the judges off with his witchcraft—but now he’d be stuck in this room with these strangers for hours—and he doesn’t know if he can dance that long without losing himself in the song and letting it all out. He’s too passionate to hide. He’d rather tell them than have them find out his brutal secret in the midst of a routine.

 

“Actually, I, um,” his voice shakes uncharacteristically, “I have. Um. An ability.”

 

The choreographer narrows his eyes, having heard this same type of revelation from a waterbending female trainee once before. He responds crisp and coolly. “Elaborate.”

 

“I…” he sweats when he counts how many eyes are on him. He didn’t want to be looked at now. He winced. He was a part of one of the most heavily discriminated and misunderstood groups in the entire _world—_ he didn’t want to expose himself to some strangers _._ Not immediately. But it was the safest thing to do, knowing him and knowing his particular power set. His hands light up in a flurry of excitable flames when he dances, and that’s just something he had to cope with. So he admits it, quietly, but he doesn’t stutter. “I’m a firebender.”

 

The air hung heavily in his throat, refusing to be used by his lungs as he gauges the reactions. Nothing extreme. So he was safe.

 

Thank God.

 

“So are you saying that you’re dangerous?” The dance instructor asks cautiously.

 

Minho shakes his head, disagreeing. “No. I’m saying that when I dance my hands _flash._ ” Chan knew that term extremely well; it meant the guy’s hands spontaneously lit off, generating a blaze. Minho continues, warning, “They shouldn’t get too close to me.”

 

“Fine. But you better be worth all the hype. I’ve heard plenty good things about you, Lee Minho. Former BTS backup dancer.” He shifts gears. “Like I said, I hope you all were stretching ‘cause I already did. Let’s hop right into it.”

 

Chan’s gaze never wavers from Minho until the choreographer started easing them into their first song.

 

Besides that slightly unsettling fact, Minho, however, could relax a bit easier with the weight lifted off his chest, and he could breathe normally again. They wouldn’t have let him in this far if they couldn’t handle people like him.

 

They already had debuted firebenders, and they turned out just fine. Everything would be fine. Minho would be fine. He’d be another success story. Like the seniors. Like Choi Youngjae. Like Minatozaki Sana. Like Myoui Mina. Like Hirai Momo.

 

 

+++[불 ▪ 공기]+++

 

 

Seungmin’s foot tapped anxiously in his compact desk seat. He was sitting in his last period of the day, algebra, and underneath his journal filled with conflicting notes he couldn’t understand about unit circles or some irrelevant shit, were lyrics.

 

He had a nifty little habit of forgetting lyrics and in an hour’s time, he’d be screwed if he did.

 

Just one more hour and he could toss that ugly yellow blazer over his shoulder and book it to his audition, and ace it!

 

He’ll ace it.

 

He’ll ace it!

 

He has to. It was now, an hour later; or never, an eternity later.

 

“Kim Seungmin,” his teacher snapped, drawing him forcefully out of his own thoughts. Seungmin jumps slightly, despite his usual cool demeanor. “I asked you a question. What is the answer?”

 

“Uh,” he looks to the left, seeing a boy who hates his guts because he came from a family of anti-bending bullies. His eyes dart to the right suddenly, and then down at his math journal and he shrugs, mumbling an answer with soft eyes that say he’s given up on schoolwork by now. “The answer is… two pi?”

 

The teacher purses their lips, a bitter sign that his guess was correct. Talk about finesse. Yet his teacher still felt the need to pick on him. Unnecessarily. “Pay attention. There’s a test coming up.”

 

When the adult turned back up to the whiteboard, Seungmin ruffled his own bangs, muttering, “Hell yeah, there’s a test coming up.”

 

His jittery excitement was unimaginable by the time his last bell rung. The way he sprinted out of that classroom and practically flew down those treacherous flights of stairs deserved Olympic recognition.

 

So when he makes it to his audition a minute before it’s his turn, his body is unimaginably worn and he’s urged to take off the blazer that was now itchy with sweat. He decides against it, though, figuring he’d look more put-together if he kept it on.

 

He sits on a chair next to another boy who was watching dance videos on his phone, with earbuds in. That was probably the choreography he’d be using. The boy, with unusually long bangs, pursed his lips in a thin line as he studied and analyzed the video sternly. Seungmin notices the crest on the boy’s shirt, from the same school that he attended. He’s never seen this guy in his life.

 

Regardless of that, he smiles just a little, glad that he’s not the only one feeing like his heart would burst. He turns back to his lyric sheet.

 

Seungmin mutters lyrics under his breath and the loudest thing he does in that lobby is clear his throat when the PD lady calls for him at the door. One boy walks out, with his head hung in sullen shame and now Seungmin’s heart wants to explode.

 

Seungmin’s vocal coach had been encouraging all the while he was training with her, so he kept happy thoughts and her good-natured words in mind when he takes a breath and walks into the room behind the extremely short female.

 

He sees four people sitting in front of him, not bothering to make him at ease with even a hello. This must be how people feel in front of judges during competitions. Two of the four judges had obnoxious sunglasses on indoors, and two out of four judges also wore obnoxious indoor caps.

 

Their faces were rock solid and their lips barely moved when they asked him a few base-level questions like his name, age, and what he’d be doing.

 

They seemed like trained robots, with eyes for talent and stardom. Stardom kind of intimidated Seungmin, but he wouldn’t let that show now.

 

“I’ll be singing.” He says, before they instruct him to start, acapella.

 

Seungmin decides to be careful and cuts a few of the vibratos out, opting for straighter, cleaner lines, and he only raises his voice a little higher when transitioning to a different tempo from the last. His hands work a lot, moving up and down as an unconscious way for him to remember lyrics in his head. He could barely see the words behind his closed eyelids, but he breathes easy when it’s over, because it had been a success in his eyes.

 

Now for the judges’ verdict.

 

He stood stiffly and bowed equally stiffly, watching as the deliberated with one another and came up with a conclusive answer.

 

“We’ve decided to give you a pass,” a man starts, donning a stupid hat, “However, don’t think that your performance was impeccable. It still left something to be desired. Irregardless of that, congratulations on your success. We will give you further guidelines later.”

 

Seungmin smiles and wheezes a little, and at this point his heart may as well could have burned him from the inside out to a crisp. He made it! Even if it was narrowly, he made it!

 

When he walks out of the room, he laughs, feeling much more confident—and he criticizes the judges back, “‘Irregardless’ is not a word.”

 

The boy from his school looks up at him and then down at the vacant chair next to him, and them back up at him. He removes a black earbud, asking with a smiling face, “You passed?”

 

Seungmin nods, his fringe flopping around his face haphazardly. “Yes.”

 

“Congrats.”

 

“Good luck. It’s intense, not gonna lie.”

 

The boy blinks at him. “Thank you…”

 

“Kim Seungmin?”

 

The PD lady’s voice made him whip around sharply.

 

“Yes, miss?”

 

She hands him a paper, telling him to show up to the company building bright and early to train and meet with some other trainees.

 

He beams, flashing the paper to the other, wishing him a good luck once more.

 

When Seungmin leaves, bouncing on his feet, the other boy, Hyunjin, feels a surge of positive energy. Hopefully, he could get that same invitation, too.

 

This agency was his first choice too. His dance had to be spectacular to secure his spot. He had to be main dancer. He wanted to be as great of a dancer as that Seungmin dude was a great singer. He heard him through the walls. It revitalized him.

 

 

+++[지구]+++

 

 

“I can’t believe you’re serious about this,” his mother sighs, gripping the wheel frantically, looking at the road with tired, aged eyes.

 

“Well, I am,” Jeongin confirmed. “It’ll be great.”

 

“What if they reject you?” His mother laments worrisomely. “I don’t want them to hurt you,” she looks at him through the mirror. He had opted to sit in the back for some reason—probably to feel like a kid again, despite this immense adult decision he made. Maybe it was for some semblance of privacy. He was a teenager, and that was natural, but the last thing his mother wanted was privacy. She didn’t like when he was in his own head. She wanted to be all up on him, smothering him with hugs and mom’s love and care. She clingy, and she’s cool with that.

 

“Mom, you missed the exit,” Jeongin states with a finger pointed out the window.

 

“Oh! I did? Sorry. Looks like we’ll have to go round.”

 

“Ugh, we’re gonna be late.”

 

She smacks her lips, acting cool and collected. “Not by a longshot.”

 

She picks up the pace to a legal amount and soon enough the sand-manipulating beach boy is in front of the biggest life decision of his life. He waves his mother goodbye and throws her a heart hand gesture for good measure.

 

He rushes past the secretary, following the signs that lead to the auditioning corridor. He sees a few other kids sitting there, it being much more packed than usual since it was later and people finished up their exracurriculars.

 

“Yang Jeongin! Here for my audition!”

 

“And right in time, too. Loving the enthusiasm. What do you have prepared for us today?”

 

He breathlessly exhales. “I sing… I’ll sing.”

 

He stands in front of the judges as stiff as a pole, pointed like the Washington monument, and he belts his heart out.

 

He’s a country boy trying to finally get away from the beach—which look like glittering gold to most, but confine him with waters he can’t travel. He wants to see the world, to explore, to do what he loves with friends and make a name for his humble family.

 

He has to sing. He has to cross that teasing, boundless, pearly ocean. Jeongin wants to touch every continent in the world before he dies, and he makes sure the judges know that very well when he sings to the four of them.

 

They deliberate and conclude and criticize.

 

Although he makes it just narrowly, he makes it nonetheless, even if he is a little wounded by them dogging on his ‘adolescent voice.’

 

What the hell was he supposed to do about it?

 

For now, all he could do was be content. He had joined the envied nation.  He was more than lucky at this point.

 

A week leader Yang Jeongin sits in front of the big boss himself in his conference room that was so overwhelmingly large for just two people.

 

The PD cuts right to the point, swerving past all minimalist conversation and making Jeongin freeze, static.

 

“Yang Jeongin. You’re from Busan, born in the year of the snake, 2001, right?”

 

The boy nods. “Yes sir.”

 

“I’ll just ask you as I’d ask all the others who’ve been in this room…”

 

“Pardon me, but, isn’t that everyone? Don’t you have one-on-ones like these with all trainees?”

 

The man snicker, “No. Just the ones I’m particularly interested in. My burning question—since I know the suspense is killing you—is are you a bender?”

 

Jeongin does a combination of confirming and denying, his head and hands saying two opposite things, like the north and south poles.

 

“I am.”

 

“What do you do?”

 

He averts eye contact, hating the invasive question even know he knew it was necessary. If he did debut, it was going to come out at some point and the first people to know should be the ones behind the scenes.

 

“It’s kind of complicated,” he motions awkwardly, feeling the wires of his braces hold him hostage. He suddenly becomes extra aware of the wound in his inner jaw and internally curses at the uncut wire. “I got earthbending from my mother’s side and my dad’s not a bender… but my mom never learned how to properly use her powers so she could never teach me and my little brother.”

 

“I see. So you can’t bend at all? Or you can but you can’t control it?”

 

Jeongin winces. “A bit of both,” he says meekly, blabbering an explanation again, “I can do a bit of something with pebbles and I can move sand a bit. But I’m not… you know—sir—all that…”

 

“I’ve read that sandbending is considered one of the more challenging of the bending sub-skills. I bet it took a while to figure out. I like that. It shows you have _grit._ Did it ever frustrate you?”

 

“Yeah,” the teen perks up, a bit proud that someone acknowledged his small ability. “Because the grains are so _tiny.”_

 

“Cute.” The man mutters, taking extra notes. “We’re going to help improve your singing and you’re going to use a lot of that grit you’ve got there.”

 

It took a while, but Jeongin finally just nods, quietly responding, “Can’t wait.”

 

 

**BOOK 03. ORGAN (THE BROTHERHOOD)**

+++[불 ▪ 공기]+++

 

 

When the nine boys had met each other all at once, for the very first time, they practically clicked instantaneously. All except two. They felt an unwavering connection that couldn’t be foiled, and they couldn’t even explain why.

 

They weren’t even aware of each other’s extravagant abilities, so that made explaining the strange pull between them all the more difficult. 3RACHA never exposed or explained their Icy Hot dynamic. Seungmin never spoke on how his stomach was an unwavering furnace. Hyunjin never spoke on why he insisted to wear unreasonably long sleeves even during the warmest and most humid days. Felix never huffed too hard or else papers would float away and innocent water bottles would tumble. Woojin never brought up his unorthodox fighting background. Jeongin never even tried to mention his unique heritage. Yet, on the contrary, Minho was an open book, deciding to take one for the team and be their _token bender._

 

Minho had becomes close with everyone, and because of this middleman factor of his, he often found himself nurturing and scolding younger members—especially Jisung and Hyunjin.

 

Like once—out of the many, many occurrences—when the two were arguing because they kept bumping into each other. Despite the unseen invisible pull that drew their friend groups together, the two weren’t exactly each other’s cup of tea. Every time they were asked about it, however, they just offered some bullshit answer that the other was too arrogant or too pretentious.

 

 Minho didn’t buy it. They all wanted to be singers. They all wanted to dance. Who had to pretend about that?

 

So when Hyunjin shoves Jisung and accidentally throws him into Changbin with a scowl and harsh words, Minho’s immediate reaction is very ‘ah, shit, here we go again.’ He rolls his eyes, preparing for the storm, and thinking up some flame-related joke threat that he wouldn’t dare act upon.

 

He sees Woojin shrug out of the corner of his eye, before the older male downs his entire bottle of water, which probably wasn’t his smartest move unless he wanted to cramp and shrivel up like a dried worm the moment they started moving their feet again.

 

“Could you watch where you’re going?” Hyunjin scoffed, before demonstrating, “The move is easy.”

 

Hyunjin had recently been criticized harshly on his last monthly evaluation and the overlying stress of possibly getting dropped was weighing him down like an elephant on a penny.

 

Jisung folds his arms, showing no indication that he would copy the demonstration. “It was an accident. No need for you to get all bitchy!”

 

“I’m not being bitchy! You just can’t dance! Like, at all! Gosh, how hard is the _simplest_ move in the entire choreography! It’s just a little footwork!”

 

“It’s just a little footwork,” Minho mocks, sounding like a living meme. “You both are holding us back with all that fussing. Just kiss and make up already.”

 

They responded at once—responsively, eagerly, and highly defensive.

 

“Hell no! He’s an ass!” Jisung.

 

“Hell no! He can’t dance!” Hyunjin.

 

“You’re both being pretty out of pocket,” Jeongin comments under his breath, “It’s mean.”

 

“I was tempted to let you both blow off some steam, but this is absolutely ridiculous. The PDs grouped us together for a reason. If we all want to debut,” Chan stressed the words, with a fatherly bass in his voice, “then we’ve all got to work together. Point blank period.”

 

“Channie-hyung, are we even going to debut with this guy? His left feet are just as bad as mine and yet he’s talking about me,” Jisung adds sharply.

 

A gasp rang through the room. Sweet, shy Jisung at this moment… needed a muzzle on his smart mouth.

 

Hyunjin’s expression wavered from anger to sadness and then to pure rage. His eyes looked red with possible angry tears. Destructively angry tears.

 

“Oh, so that’s what you think?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung steps forward, jaw clenching and unclenching, “Yeah that’s what the hell I think!”

 

“You’re a loser!”

 

“You’re a loser!”

 

They had spoken in unison once more, but all of that was at the very back of the boys’ minds when they suddenly found themselves having to step in between the two boys and restrict hands behind their back like some sort of mock arrest. Chan slaps a hand over Jisung’s bold mouth before he can say anything else to provoke the other and Felix had done the same with Hyunjin.

 

Practice was unofficially cancelled and they did not tell any of the supervisors. They’d get in trouble for it later but none of them really cared, preferring to keep whatever happened between the nine of them in that practice room in the practice room.

 

Whatever happens in that room stayed in the room, for the most part.

 

Hyunjin ranted to Minho about it later at night on the phone, sounding just as aggravated as he did in the moment despite the elder boy’s effort to pacify him.

 

“He’s such a… a dork! I was trying to help him out, but no, he wants to be all snappy,” Hyunjin complains. “He’s just pissy because they said Changbin was a better rapper than him.”

 

“Hyunjin.” Minho says firmly. “Don’t say that. You know we’re all struggling here and we’re all trying our best. Everyone is just as frustrated as you are and has their own criticisms to worry about. It doesn’t have to be brought to the very forefront like that.”

 

“He brought mine to the forefront!”

 

“No, he didn’t. You kept saying he couldn’t dance, and now you’re saying he’s a mediocre rapper.”

 

“Nah. I’m saying he’s a trash rapper.”

 

“Hwang Hyunjin. Your mouth.” Minho scolds. “I think you should both apologize to each other. You insulted him, he insulted you. This apology needs to be real and final… because I’m sick of you guys’ bullshit in the studio.”

 

“Huh,” the younger boy gasps, as if he was innocent.

 

“It’s either you starting stuff with him or him starting stuff with you. Neither of you are innocent. Frankly, it’s annoying, and it’s weighing the team down. You have to at least be civil, it’s not like you have to kiss him or anything. But if one of you childish-ass boys don’t man up and reconcile, then both of you are losers in my book.”

 

 

+++[물]+++

 

 

“You need to have a heart to heart.”

 

Chan had said.

 

Jisung snorts, tossing himself into his pillow. The others wouldn’t leave his room, determined to talk to him, whether he was incensed or not.

 

The boy groans solemnly, turning his head away from the two. “If he even has a heart. It’s probably made of stone.”

 

“Well you both act like boneheads so… shocker.”

 

“Shut up, Binnie… hyung.” Jisung mumbles. “The only person that loves me is Jeongin.”

 

“He might hate you too if you and Hyunjin keep this mortal enemies thing going up long enough. You almost swung on him. In fact, you surely would’ve!” Chan offers a disappointed laugh. “We’ve got early morning practice scheduled tomorrow. If you pull that stunt again I’ll be too tired to stop you and you’ll both get kicked out. Is that what you want?”

 

Jisung squeezed the panda Pillow Pet he borrowed from Changbin, turning and looking up at the elders guiltily. “No…”

 

“And you’d have a lot of explaining to do if you splashed him,” Changbin said seriously.

 

Jisung squeezed the plushie harder.

 

“He’s just a little pretty boy who’s got a free ride ‘cause of his face. That’s it and that’s all! He thinks he can walk all over me because I actually have somethin’ to lose and I’m not with that.”

 

“I’m sure he doesn’t think so. Despite what other trainees—like you—say about him, I think he’s a pretty hardworking guy.” Chan said softly, changing his approach.

 

Jisung frowns and at this point he’s choking the plushie. “Why are you defending him?”

 

“Because I’m trying to get you to realize that he’s just like you. You both are fighting slightly different versions of the same battle. You need to empathize and you need to do it now. If it’s not for each other, then at least do it for the team. Think of 3RACHA or Woojin.” Chan finishes, “Plus, Ji, you can’t fight anyway so don’t set yourself up.”

 

Changbin cackled, despite being built like a twig himself.

 

Jisung was a bit relieved the serious atmosphere kind of shook a bit. It made telling Changbin to shut up feel less out of place and much easier to do.

 

“Get out of my room,” he says finally with an exasperated sigh, “I’ll think about it.”

 

 

+++[물 ▪ 공기]+++

 

 

Since early morning practice fell on a weekend, when they took a break they could actually travel a bit out of bounds. Chan offered to buy everyone breakfast from their favorite place, mainly as a ploy to get the rest of the group to tag along with him and leave the two fussy babies to their making up.

 

When Jisung tried to join, practically hanging onto the hem of the elder’s garments, Chan shook him off smoothly with a dimpled simper, “I know your usual; no need to tag along.”

 

Hyunjin furrows his brows, “What about me?”

 

“You like big muffins?”

 

“Um… Yeah?”

 

“Cool. We’ll be back.” Chan left swiftly, leading the rest of the boys out of the dance studio with almighty grins and snickers.

 

So the two were alone in the studio, sweaty and bored out of their minds. At first they gravitated to their separate ends of the wall, both too shy and stubborn to fess up and apologize like mature people do.

 

Like teammates and bandmates do.

 

Jisung wheezes after he downs his bottle of water, rolling up his sleeves and fanning himself.

 

Hyunjin tossed his head back to get a wet fringe out of his eyes, and he’s suddenly reminded of his pup, Kkami. He twists his lip, feeling a bit guilty and feeling absurdly crushed by the awkward tension in the room.

 

He took a deep breath, inhaling, deciding to heed his hyung’s advice. Apparently, Jisung had gotten the same advice, because there they go, talking at the same time again over each other and under each other, before they both pause— “You go first. No you.”

 

“I’ll go first.” Jisung says finally, figuring he should be able to put words to how he feels in his head and in his chest about this whole situation. He’s a rapper and a lyricist at the end of it all; putting words to shit is what he _does._ “I’m sorry for being a jackass towards you,” he spits it out, “Just in general. I’ve bullied the shit out of you ever since you got here and—”

 

“Not just you, though,” Hyunjin cuts him off, hesitantly. “I haven’t been the nicest to you either. Just yesterday, I bullied you… I said you couldn’t dance when, in reality, you just made a mistake. I’ve been so stressed lately and… I just, I hear what everyone says about me. I always feel pressure to overachieve to prove that I’m not just a random handsome guy. I wanted to show I had some sort of value and… I basically took it out on you by berating and disrespecting you…”

 

Jisung looks at the other and sees only a mop of hair. The other boy had his head rested on top of his knees, looking straight ahead at the mirrors. It seemed like he was close to shattering like some thin glass.

 

“And I want to say sorry because I believed that rumor.” Jisung admits. “You said I couldn’t dance and I was this close to calling you talentless. Every time we fussed at each other there was always this background thought that was like ‘oh, this bastard doesn’t even deserve to be here.’ When I picked on you for fumbling over your words with some lyrics and called you stupid, I had that thought. That you were never going to debut… and because I was associated with you, I was never going to debut.”

 

Hyunjin cries. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, I,” Jisung pauses, scooting over, closer, “I am too. I’m sorry.”

 

Feebly rubbing at his eyes, the other kid continues, “You were worried I was going to drag you down. You thought I didn’t deserve my spot. Honestly, sometimes I feel like that too.”

 

“And you thought I was cocky and egotistical… and honestly, I think you’re right,” Jisung says, voice quivering at the sight of the other bawling before he finally breaks his own dam also. Jisung finds himself hugging the other and rubbing circles into his back. He chokes on his next words, but they must be said. “I was just scared. A new person… with so much potential like yourself… It… It intimidated me.”

 

The other boy laughs wheezily. “You thought you didn’t? Your name was floating around the building as this multitalented trainee with nowhere to go but up. Instead of looking to you for tips I tried to beat the ego out of you.”

 

“Oh, God,” Jisung bemoans, wiping tears off his red cheeks, “I hate pouring out my feelings. Can we agree to be friends now?”

 

Hyunjin moves from his semi-awkward embrace to look him in the eyes and nod, tentatively tugging his striped sleeve lower to his hand. “Pinky promise?”

 

Red-eyed rapper Jisung looks at red-eyed dancer Hyunjin and he smiles.

 

 

+++[공기]+++

 

 

The group had been together a year now.

 

Other boys had entered and exited like gusts of wind, but the select nine were and unwavering constant. Sometimes thy beat the odds. Sometimes they passed the monthly examination with flying colors whilst other times they were barely hanging on by one measly point. But the nine were always together.

 

They somehow made it throughout a year of knowing each other without telling each other of their abilities yet. Some just naturally revealed themselves over the course of time as they let their guards down at got comfortable; but most were still concealed. The only ones the entire group were totally aware of at this point were Minho’s firebending and Felix and Hyunjin’s airbending. Hyunjin hadn’t even bent any air to show them—it was just too hot one day for him to cover himself from top to bottom in sleeves. His telltale blue arrows filled to the brim with nearly microscopic writings and patterns showed themselves on his limbs. That’s when Felix took note of the spinal arrow’s head at the nape of the other’s neck, partially concealed by hair.

 

Traditionally, the tattoo starts at your forehead and pulls down the very center of your back before splitting off to run along your thighs and legs until the tips of the arrows meet your ankles. Then the tattooist, typically a grandparent, would continue at the ‘wings’ of someone’s back—their shoulder blades—to draw the arrows all the way up until it meets the knuckles.

 

Most modern airbenders didn’t tattoo their skulls anymore because they found it outdated and it’d make finding a decent job a total _bitch_ to do. They now preferred starting at the nape. As for the hands, Hyunjin had been consistently concealing his hands with makeup every day for that entire year.

 

One time, while sitting with the two airbenders, using his last sliver of free time, Seungmin had asked, “Hey, Felix, how come you don’t have the airbender tattoo?”

 

Felix looked extremely hesitant to answer, and Seungmin was about to tell him he didn’t need to answer if he made him feel uncomfortable, but the Australian answers anyway, honestly but not telling the whole truth. “I do have it… sort of. It’s not complete.”

 

Now Hyunjin perks up. That process could be two weeks long and waiting in between sessions was literally allowing a wound to heal only to cut into it again. “Why?”

 

“My grandma is my family’s… artist.”

 

“Ah, she was the family tattooist,” Seungmin said, adding a new word to Felix’s Korean vocab.

 

“Y-Yeah… she got sick before she could finish it,” he says quietly before looking to Hyunjin. He continues, sadly, “So I just have this weird blue arrow sitting on my back.”

 

Hyunjin grabs Felix’s idle hands excitedly, having an idea. “Tell you what!”

 

“Oh no,” Seungmin said in advanced, not knowing where this was going but just knowing his comment was necessary.

 

“Min! You didn’t even let me say it. Besides it’s wholesome airbender stuff anyways,” he squeezes Felix’s hands. “When we debut _together,_ I’ll take you to my grandparents. I’ll ask them to finish your tat.”

 

“Really?” Felix looks like a kid in a candy store upon hearing the offer. “You would—they would do that? They don’t even know me!”

 

“A friend of mine is a friend of theirs, Lixie, I promise.”

 

Seungmin smiles at them, liking the sudden gleefulness in both of their expressions. It was some cultural airbender thing that he’s sure he’d never truly understand to the fullest as a firebender—or a _normie_ to them—but if it produced that much joy then it must’ve been something special.

 

“Wait a second. That’s a full body tattoo. How long does it take?” Seungmin suddenly winces, thinking of the amount of pain and peeling skin they have to endure.

 

He couldn’t believe Hyunjin, who could barely take a hit, had allowed himself to go through that.

 

 It must be _really_ special then!

 

“One to two weeks,” Hyunjin says candidly.

 

“Depends on the method,” Felix adds.

 

 

+++[물]+++

 

 

Jisung hops out of the studio while clearing his throat, looking to the other two visionaries and asking, “Well? It was cool, wasn’t it?”

 

“Oh yeah, the way you use similes is freakin’ brilliant.” Changbin compliments, playing the verse back. The bass thrums through the boxy room. “You wrote that in how long?”

 

“Thirty minutes.” Jisung answers before tossing himself onto a couch. He had procrastinated on writing his verse, but he figured he worked well under pressure. Despite being the latest to record, they all agreed to squeeze him into the middle of the song as the second verse of the cypher, per usual. “I’m a little breathless, to be honest.”

 

“It’s what happens when you don’t breathe,” Changbin jokes before asking Chan a question  while he was editing and snipping bits of the audio to make it crisp. “What does ‘kia rite’ mean again?”

 

The eclectic leader goes on to explain what exactly the phrase means and where it came from, citing that it was a Maori phrase that he felt inspire by because of how it implied that they were _getting ready_ to dominate with their music. He then continues mumbling and humming as he adjusts some things, speeding up a few percussions in the background before adding a very hip-hop stutter over Changbin’s intro.

 

He played it out for the other two to have a proper listen, and the boys flipped. They both had grins and kept asking for their favorite parts to be replayed. Their fans on SoundCloud would definitely enjoy this! Not only was it straight fire, but it was a tasteful blend of the old and new sounds of the trio, hopefully assuring people that idol life isn’t going to change a thing about them. They were still going to be a hundred and ten percent authentic. All J.One. All CB97. All Spear B. Period.

 

“We should add a Jamaican airhorn in the background,” Changbin suggests, half joking.

 

“Why?” The other two critique soberly.

 

He shrugs. “You just gotta.”

 

The other two were not feeling it and Chan promised that they’d do it on one of their next songs… just not _‘Zone.’_ That was perfect just the way it was.

 

 

+++[불]+++

 

 

It’s two years and four months mark officially when they see the CEO again. He waltzes into the practice room with a false sense of normalcy as if he wasn’t one of the top ten most recognizable faces in Asia—right under the president of China and right over the Dalai Lama.

 

He still had an ugly-ass outfit that make him look like a box of crayons from a 90s’ kindergarten classroom—but who’d criticize that?

 

That didn’t really matter because with his presence and his dad smile he brought good news.

 

This good news which was a double edged serrated sword.

 

It was progress, even if it was a little rocky.

 

“Stray Kids,” he states as his pitch after the guys had quickly bowed a slick ninety degrees at the elder. “A survival show of the fittest. The very first episode will be boys versus girls to see whose show this’ll really be. If you win that battle, you will advance as a team of nine. As you all may or may not be aware of, the reason why I have you working constantly together as a unit of nine is because Chan requested it. Amongst all of my trainees, I trust his opinion heavily so I allowed you all to cozy up to each other—so you’re practically already bandmates in that regard. But, as the expert here, I will be using this survival show to pick off those who simply aren’t ready.”

 

Felix’s breath hitched. It sounded like a direct attack on him. How the hell was he supposed to be a K-pop star and not be able to speak proper Korean? He was barely literate in the language and his confidence when speaking it had barely jumped since the first time he cracked open a Hangeul guidebook.

 

The man continues with a thunderous clap of his hands. “You all look so nervous, already? There’s no cameras in here,” he titters. “Relax. There will also be a fan vote at the very end of the series that will ultimately hold more power than whatever I have to say about you. So not only will you have to work hard to sharpening your skills; but you’ll also have to know how to be a literal crowd-pleaser. Also!” He tossed in some extra, random tidbit. “We’ll be sponsored by Coca-Cola so you’ll have to be seen drinking that every other scene.”

 

He leaves.

 

“I—” Seungmin starts, not even knowing where exactly to begin. He didn’t know if this was his big break or some sort of scam and he definitely wasn’t fond of the idea of one of them being picked out and _recalled_ like damaged goods. “My stomach hurts—I think I’ve gotta—”

 

Seungmin rushes to the bathroom and all you hear is the squeaking of his sneakers as he books it down the hall.

 

Jeongin slides down the wall, opting to twiddle his shoelaces that were missing aglets and getting unraveled from repeated wear.

 

“I mean… this is our chance. JYP Nation. That’s what we wanted, right?”

 

He timidly looks to his hyungs. It’s what he wanted. It what he moved out of his quaint little beach house in Busan for in favor of his aunt’s nearby city apartment.

 

Woojin’s worried expression quickly softens into a cheery one with a nervous smile. He offers a hand to the youngest, pulling him back up and patting his shoulder. “Of course it’s what we want.”

 

Chan agrees. “And that’s why everyone has to make it. Let’s practice.”

 

 

+++[불]+++

 

 

The first day of shooting involved a rundown of things they could and could not say on camera as well as an ungodly amount of coke lined up on the ground. Their practice room, usually so familiar and habitual to them had suddenly made them feel like they were thrown into a lions’ den with nothing but soda cans to protect them. The cameras filming at their front and side profiles did nothing to ease their discomfort. But the producers acknowledged that their camera-shyness would wear off with time.

 

All they had to do was pretend those cameras and extra people weren’t even there—but still be aware enough to know they were being watched and not cuss like extremely watered-down sailors. Felix pops open a coke can, glad that he didn’t have to say anything as he gulps the overly-acidic drink down, even when it fights his throat.

 

“We have to go to the battle today,” Chan began, talking with his hands doing all types of motions on the floor. “We’ve all prepared, eh? Weeks and weeks of practice. So we’ve got to win.”

 

“We will,” Minho says optimistically. “We’ve worked our butts off.”

 

The nonet cheer and clap in agreement, trying hard to look at each other and not the big eyes of the blocky cameras. Their extreme positivity was real, though.

 

“Absolutely right. We’ve got to show it to those judges that we’re the best of them all,” Chan says smartly, riling the team up again and making them cheer. His inner Aussie was coming out; every word he said sounded like patriotic inspiration for soldiers at war.

 

 

+++[지구 ▪ 공기 ▪ 불 ▪ 물]+++

 

 

As soon as they, the male project team, had won, they had been bombarded with their first mission to self-produce and write their own song to establish their sound. They even had to shoot a pre-debut music video, meaning the group desperately needed a name. Fast!

 

Luckily for them, Chan had multiple unfinished ideas and snippets stored into his laptop that he had slaved over with a hunched back during nights where his eyes just wouldn’t stay shut.

 

“The devil works hard, but Chan works harder,” Felix had commented in English once, and Seungmin snorted behind his hand.

 

Their second episode entailed a nice little eustress activity involving going out to eat and blowing away tokens and tickets at an arcade, all at the expense of Chan’s poor, thin wallet.

 

He still laughed along with them when they all flopped at one challenging console involving the entire body. All in all, it was fun.

 

But the best activity of that day was actually _moving._ 3RACHA said goodbye to their oddly oversized-for-three but undersized-for-nine apartment and quickly shoved all of their belongings into bags to take with them to their newest company-issued abode. Minho had skillfully tied an abnormal amount of old lady bundles to carry his things. Hyunjin had formally kissed Kkami goodbye, promising visits. Felix had brought along all his hoarded _—“I don’t have an addiction, hyung”—_ stuffies along and practically suffocated with them in the elevator. Woojin had separately packed all of his horizontally striped shirts. Seungmin had grabbed his entire phone case collection. And Jeongin had played his cleaning playlist while packing his stuff, belting lyrics to the self-cam that he had to bring along.

 

 

+++[물 ▪ 불]+++

 

 

“The song title _‘Hellovator’_ is the word ‘elevator’ with an H thrown in front of it. It means that we’re riding on an elevator out of Hell and we’re headed for the penthouse suite at the top, meaning our success.” The explanation ran smooth like butter off Changbin’s tongue as he paraphrased the song’s message.

 

Performing the song just as they had practiced, they still weren’t immune to criticism, with three of them already being knocked down into the danger zone. They only had one chance to redeem themselves or else they were out of the group and their chance for a speedy debut would be cut.

 

It was _scary._

 

And it was even scarier when the first elimination came—when it was Minho. He was the one who helped everyone, and seeing him actually get booted was the painful heart-wrenching reality check that let them know that this was not a drill.

 

When they received the news at a lineup, Felix and Hyunjin partially wanted to sigh in relief upon realizing they were in the clear; but the brief security was shattered once they realized Minho wasn’t safe. It was almost like guilt. They had pestered him for help so much, so often. The older male didn’t have time to hone his own skill. The entire 2000s line hugged Minho with an unfathomable tightness because they all appreciated him in their own way.

 

The departure was very, very teary to say the least.

 

After that initial shocker, Seungmin spoke less and sang more, working his ass off with aggressive practice… and he soon started showing some Minho mannerisms when he danced. Specifically, he would dance really hard with sweat coating his forehead and he’d flash. It burned hot; Chan had felt it firsthand when he tried to tell Seungmin to sit out for a few minutes and drink something. The other had stubbornly refused until the leader warned of possible dehydration or simply burning out.  He was also very shaky when he danced, like he was trembling, and he blamed it on acute anxiety.

 

He just had to calm down and do things _naturally_. Like an adult.

 

Needless to say, when the viewers witnessed his fiery, unedited outburst, it stirred the pot a little. His name trended on Naver for a solid two days filled with JYP Nation enthusiasts trying to figure out just how many firebenders the man was willing to hire and train. First there was poor Minho, who was eliminated far too quickly… and now there was the dandy boy Seungmin who had just outed himself.

 

At least it brought more curious ratings to their show, even if it wasn’t for the right reasons.

 

 

 

 

 

>  
> 
> **NAVER SEARCH: ______________________**
> 
> **#1. Jyp firebenders**
> 
> **#2. “stan loona” in Korean???**
> 
> **#3. Fenty beauty**
> 
> **#4. Kim Seungmin jyp**
> 
> **#5. World news**

Jeongin peeks over his shoulder, glaring into the bright screen of Seungmin’s phone. The younger was a night owl, preferring his screen to be on the lowest brightness setting possible. Somehow he could still see. However, that didn’t negate the fact that he was eavesdropping with his eyeballs.

 

Seungmin shook him off his shoulders with a grimace. “Stop peeping.”

 

The maknae shrugs, clad in his fluffy slippers and cotton pajamas. Usually he was trying his damnedest to run away from Seungmin’s crushing affection, but now, with the house suddenly ten times quieter with Minho’s sudden absence, he finds himself drawn to the mere idea of a bone-crushing hug from the other. Unfortunately, Seungmin was moody… and Jeongin thought he was quite the bitch when moody. But it was justified this time so he let it slide.

 

Jeongin instead sat at his feet on the couch. He jokes airily.  “Why’re you searching your name? We’re not that popular yet.”

 

“Innie, I bent today. I know you saw it,” Seungmin pulls his legs back, sitting with his phone in clutch in a fetal position. “You’re not… confused, or mad, or scared… Why?”

 

Jeongin laughs, boldly correcting, “I’m not scared of anything. Especially not some benders.”

 

“But Innie, I’m a firebender. Isn’t that like, the worst of the worst for some people?” Seungmin struggled. He’d never been at a loss for words before; he was always praised for being witty, not dumb.

 

“I think there’s more benders in this group and in this company than you recognize, _hyung,”_ he only ever called him that when being serious. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. That ain’t healthy.”

 

Seungmin makes a face at the other and puts down his phone. He whispers, “So you’re not even pissed off about me keeping it a secret for this long? We’ve known each other for practically two years!”

 

“It’s your choice, not mine. Plus…” Jeongin plays with a button absentmindedly. “You’re about to be real mad at me later on anyway.”

 

Seungmin tilts his head, deadpanning. “Huh?”

 

“I don’t know,” the youngest backtracks, yawning. He drops his face in his hands. “I just have a bad feeling… That I’m going to leave soon… he keeps saying I’m missing something, like I’m not ready.”

 

“He called me a background character,” Seungmin reminds him bitterly, rubbing his shoulder. “You’re not alone. If we’re bringing nothing to the table, we’re bringing nothing to the table _together_ as Stray Kids’ Seungmin and Stray Kids’ Jeongin.”

 

Jeongin snorts at the joke and stands. “Dork,” he insults the other, feeling the need to restore balance to the dynamics, “I’m going to sleep. Later.”

 

By _‘going to sleep’_ he meant staring at his phone for the next hour or so until the shit drops on his face and inevitably puts him in a six-hour sleep coma.

 

“Peace,” Seungmin sighs before standing and stretching his arms out lethargically.

 

When Seungmin goes to sleep, it isn’t easy at all. His eyes stay wide awake for some time and he can look across the room to see Felix fully immersed in a dream. He’s jealous; but not too much as he realizes that it may not be the best dream. Everyone was anxious. This show did nothing to squelch the looming anxiety over people’s heads. The only people who hadn’t been harshly criticized so far were the rappers and Woojin, but Seungmin was almost certain that someone would have something to say about them soon.

 

Seungmin, about to get out of bed for a glass of warm milk—hopefully to knock him out for the next few hours—pauses after he hears some tentative rustling and the creak of a bedroom door opening. The only person that could be was Chan. Seungmin frowns.

 

At least he didn’t have it as bad as the elder. He had cried over how he couldn’t guide Minho in the right direction. He had done more than cried; he bawled. In front of the camera crew he wept a few manly tears, but once they got home his face was in a pillow, screaming. Woojin tried smothering him with a hug but even he struggled because he was so surprised as well.

 

So it made sense that he was sneaking out at the first hour of the morning to go produce some more tracks and finish the half-baked songs he started to perfection. He was a crippling perfectionist and now he’d be on their asses more. Seungmin was thankful for that, because he needed to push.

 

He allowed the front door to shut before he stood up and paddled over to the living room. He cracked open the window and inhaled the dangerously cold nighttime air. Everyone already knew he was a firebender anyway, so he decided there was no harm in letting off steam. Plus, he’s sure it’d help in a way warm milk never could. Seungmin points his fingers as if they were guns and fired off nine shots out the window—silent fireworks. One for each member and the brightest one for Minho.

 

The next episodes went by in a blur of tiresome Coca-Cola cans, feel-good activities to make up for the loss of a member, and hardcore practice. 

 

Woojin had gotten flak from the judge despite his winning streak so far. “Your voice sounds so strained nowadays. It’s probably because you all keep singing in female key. Regardless, if you want to push you should be drinking more water before you do it… specifically tea with honey at night.”

 

Then Chan got some flak. “You’re the leader, people should feel that as you perform.”

 

Seungmin received the same type of flak over and over again. “You have to behave like you’re the best. Believe you’re the best! Don’t be an accessory when you could be a center piece.”

 

Changbin wasn’t praised or criticized really, just told that he needed to growl more if he really wanted to keep that ‘dark rapper’ image up.

 

Jeongin was told something that struck a chord in him. “You sound even younger than you are,” Jeongin could’ve cried at that point, but his meek smile never wavered, “I understand you’re the youngest, but you’ve got to enhance your stability or else you’re never going to make it past the trainee stage.”

 

Jisung was praised, which wasn’t new, but considering the hate streak that was going on, it threw the rest of them off. “Jisung, you amaze me. Somehow you manage to meet my expectations every time. However, next time, I want you to surpass them.”

 

Hyunjin was nearly verbally abused over his pronunciation. “You speak Korean like you’re Chinese.” It was a beyond harsh statement, that forced Hyunjin to bite his lip to keep from breaking down. “It’s too slurry. You need to put some emphasis on certain words, especially if you want to rap, or even sing.”

 

Felix was dragged in the same light. “Diversify your word choice. It seems like you say the same handful of words every time. If you want to sound fluent, you have to speak like a native. Or else you’re out.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” they had said in unison, following a deep bow before they filed out of the room with labored breaths.

 

They constantly performed for this man and this audience so hard, but it seemed like there was no growth to be found. Seungmin blames it on Minho’s elimination. He hates to admit it, but the elder was the glue that held the team together. Seungmin thought he was that role, but it was clearly Minho. He bridged the gap between the 90s and the 2000s kids. 

 

So right now they didn’t feel like Stray Kids. They felt like stray kids.

 

 

+++[불 ▪ 물]+++

 

 

When Felix was next to be eliminated over his apparent lack of growth in the Korean language—even though Seungmin had watched him on countless nights slave over a handful of grammar textbooks for both children and adults—the other Australian quite literally threw a fit. He ran to Felix to have a private conversation that was soon aired publicly that consisted of them crying and talking like the Aussie brothers they were. Seeing the separation was gut-wrenching and Seungmin almost wants to regurgitate the flame in his stomach, again.

 

“I’m not going to leave you,” the elder had said.

 

But he had to, if he wanted to debut. Seungmin already officially hates idol life.

 

When Chan enters the house, the first thing he does is rush to the bathroom and vomits acid and he continues to cry, feeling like the shittiest person ever. He has a throbbing headache and a bad case of low self-esteem and it was really risky to get near him when he was that sensitive, because he triggered a type of domino effect, making anyone in his vicinity feel exactly what he was feeling.

 

Seungmin couldn’t watch any longer and opted to go to his room—formerly he and Felix’s room—to cry in private after he locked the door. He stared at the bed across from his and grabs his journal full of notes from his vocal coaching sessions. He tries to sing something but his voice is too shaky and tears won’t stop falling onto the pages and blotting the ink. His hands shake when he slams the journal shut and puts it on his bedside.

 

“I wanted this,” he reminds himself, “I wanted to debut.”

 

But he didn’t want _this_ —to lose friends along the way. This was disgusting. And he’s almost certain that he’s next in line to cause the members’ tears.

 

There’s a knock on the door, and it’s Jisung. His voice is tired and hoarse from being sad for three days straight when he asks, “Seungmin? You alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” he shouts back. “Go away.”

 

“Seungmin,” the rapper whines. “Open the door.”

 

There was a long pause, before he decided. “No…”

 

“I’m bringing the rest of them, then.”

 

“I’m fine,” he asserted, not moving from his bed.

 

“Then open the door. Or I’ll open it,” he offered.

 

Seungmin huffs into his pillow, threatening. “I’ll fry you.”

 

He was this close to challenging the other to an agni kai.

 

“I’d like to see you try,” Jisung said, with the door opened after working some type of backend magical.

 

“You don’t care about your life,” Seungmin notes blandly.

 

“I can defend myself,” Jisung says before Seungmin hears some water running from all the way in the kitchen before making its way to Jisung’s right hand in the form of a ball. “I’ll throw this at you if you don’t get out here and eat.”

 

“You’re a waterbender?” Seungmin said incredulously, sitting upright.

 

“Nah, I’m the Avatar,” the rapper jokes with a semblance of his gummy smile. “I’m trying to reveal it after debut. Don’t tell the other members.”

 

He vaporizes the water, watching as it vanishes into thin air.  The sink turns off in the distance.

 

“Reveal what after debut?” Woojin inquires innocently, head in the door frame.

 

“Oh, nothing,” the rapper jumps, playing with his fingers. “Just reveal how I’m an awesome impersonator, that’s all.”

 

“Oh… well… food’s ready.” The oldest says, before downing a bottle of water so fast he was almost certain to choke.

 

 

+++[지구 ▪ 공기 ▪ 불 ▪ 물]+++

 

 

This was the final episode, after all the buildup and the heartbreak and hardships, they could finally prove to the masses that they deserved to be Stray Kids the nonet, not Stray Kids the septet.

 

JYP had so graciously brought back the other two members in a shocking twist of events, saying that he was moved by the bond that they displayed and actually really wanted to see them succeed as nine. Jeongin has half a thought that his reason was total bullshit and it was most likely for the ratings. After all, at the busking event they did, many viewers-turned-fans showed up holding Minho signs, as if to show solidarity with the remaining members. Plus, when Felix was kicked off, his name trended all over the Korean web—especially amongst foreign exchange students and mixed-race Koreans who could somewhat relate to his struggles of a new language and new environment.

 

With all their intensive practice and off-screen cussing and arguing, they had to make it worth it. That’s why this concert, filled to the brim with a thousand lucky fans, an intimidating judge, and ample cameramen had to be done perfectly. Every pre-debut song they had ever written would be performed—and Jeongin was determined to shine it at least one of them. He didn’t snorkel in their Coca-Cola episode after episode for him to not make it. He didn’t stay up until the crack of dawn working on his cadence with Jisung to not make it. He didn’t replace every bitten pencil in Hyunjin’s mouth to not make it. He didn’t almost indefinitely fry his still developing vocal chords to flop.

 

Hell no!

 

So when the young earthbending amateur performed school life, he wore the brightest schoolboy smile he could muster, and did the cute choreography with every fiber of his being as he belted.

 

  _“And today, I… nana nanana…”_

Seungmin put that same spirit and force into performing their never-before-heard song, ‘Young Wings,’ and he embodied the song perfectly—he was no longer a kid, but not quite an adult yet. Although Woojin and Minho were dancing right next to him, he felt eyes train on him, and the cheers and chants only got louder when he slid into the center. The song expressed how he felt through the whole journey of coming of age and of becoming a singer. Constant growth—growth that was sometimes too fast to handle _._

_“Wanna live naturally, eh eh… Fly and spread my wings, eh eh…”_

When performing their totally-not-ballad classic, ‘YAYAYA,’ they had all showed off the coolness and ferocity of their element’s personalities. Woojin showed control, Jeongin showed adaptability, Changbin and Jisung showed fluidity in their dance and rap, the airbenders showed well-roundedness, and the firebenders showed straight up aggression. It was the perfect blend of feelings for a bunch of goal-oriented young boys.

 

They flew through some other songs in between crowd cheers and felt energized despite their pounding hearts and sweaty bodies. Hyunjin had briefly fanned everyone by circling his hands, but it didn’t do much to stop the sweat when it was all over—when it was time to listen to the final criticisms.

 

The man starts after the cacophony of the crowd dies down. “Wow. I remember just why you all won the first battle. And the company vs. company battle as well!”

 

There was a laugh in the audience. The company battles never had an official winner, leaving it up to the interpretation of the viewers at the end of the day, to make them feel as if they got a say—but everyone knows the JYP boys won that battle anyway!

 

Between the glaring spotlights and the signs and homemade light sticks of tons of fans, they zoned into the man’s words.

 

“Kim Woojin,” he starts, “I don’t even know where to begin with you. You weren’t too shabby in the beginning, but the way you’ve pushed yourself to higher heights has been astounding.”

 

He bows with a slight smile, and his eyes crinkle up cutely on the big screen.

 

“Bang Chan… You’re a leader. I’ve watched the way you supported this group since before the show even started. You were meant to lead them, because look at what it produces. This was an idol show.”

 

“Thank you,” the Australian said breathlessly, hands shaking around his mic.

 

“Lee Minho,” the man had to pause because of a bunch of noise being made by the crowd. They loved their original token firebender and they missed him. “Despite me kicking you off, and pretty much knocking you down, you got back up and took my advice. Not many people could bounce back and do it as well as you have. You have much potential as a rapper.”

 

Minho nods and bows, unable to find a response in himself.

 

“Seo Changbin. You were amazing. I love the way you work a stage. You have charisma. It’s people like you that make the company stand out. You, along with your buddies, have a special breed of talent that I was lucky to find. Also, you’ll have to teach me how to hit the folks like you.”

 

He smiles giddily, never getting such a direct compliment _ever._ He bounces on his toes like a child when he thanks the man.

 

“Hwang Hyunjin. Your pronunciation has improved drastically. You still have your unique tone but you’ve made it understandable. I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but I like it. I… Congratulations.”

 

Hyunjin exhales a sigh of relief when he bows and wipes the sweat of his forehead with the back of his hand.

 

“Han Jisung. You’re really a performer. Your rap kind of just… consumes someone. That energy you exude just captivates people, even if you’re going too fast to hear what you’re talking about.” That was funny, because Jisung wasn’t even a fast rapper, he just used a bunch of backwards metaphors and similes.

 

He takes it with a stride and thanks him despite that.

 

“Felix,” he says without his surname, because his name was already three syllables long in Korean. “Your pronunciation has improved greatly as well. Not only are you understandable, but you no longer sound like a child. You sound like a native—a super deep-voiced native—but a native nonetheless… Oh,” the man paused seeing Felix’s smile grow wider and wider and toothier with each passing second of praise, “Cute.”

 

The crowd goes wild.

 

He moves on to the youngest two. “Kim Seungmin. First of all, let me just say, you owned that stage during ‘Young Wings.’ I’ve never witnessed you break out of your shell so extremely but I want to continue seeing _that_ Seungmin! Your stage presence was untouchable and you really shined through with that one.”

 

Seungmin kind of wanted to explode. With joy, of course. “Thank you.”

 

“Last but not least. Yang Jeongin. Do you have songwriting credits on any of these songs?”

 

“Yes sir. ‘School Life.’” He admits, biting his bottom lip.

 

“Wow.” The man seemed impressed. “I know you probably know that you’re cute and innocent-looking, but I’ll tell you again. You’re cute. However, the way you’ve worked hard and trained, and the way you performed today was like a man. I think you just may become an idol tonight.”

 

Jeongin beams, “Thank you, sir!”

 

“Alright, enough of me. Cast your votes!”

 

The audience immediately whipped out their phones to text their vote of either seven or nine. With all the positive feedback they’d received, Stray Kids were kind of worried that they’d have a rude awakening with the results.

 

They held each other’s hands and bowed their heads, hoping and praying to any deity that their nine-member wish would come true.

 

“And the results are in!” The host, clad in a silvery blue suit announces. “In three, two, one… Reveal!”

 

The big screen behind them showed ninety-six percent of people supported the idea of ‘Stray Kids nine or none,’ so that automatically nullified the other four percent! The boys cheered and laughed together in a massive mush they called a group hug, and Chan was reminded of just how affectionate the other two member of 3RACHA could be when they each kissed him on the cheek.

 

It looks like wishful thinking worked!

 

 

**BOOK 04. OFFICIALITY (THE DEBUT)**

+++[지구 ▪ 공기 ▪ 불 ▪ 물]+++

 

 

“Oi,” Felix had said in English to the elder, “We’ve got to fucking celebrate. Tomorrow. I felt like my heart was going to explode.”

 

“You and me both,” the older Australian had concurred. “I still feel that nervous rush even now,” he threw himself on the couch. “You and Minho have to repack your stuff to bring it all back now.”

 

“Oh, yeah, that,” Felix groans. “Forgot.”

 

Chan laughs. “We can finally stop drowning ourselves in cola.”

 

“I used to just fill my cola can with water,” Seungmin admits, meeting them in the living room. “Can we watch a movie? As an official group?”

 

The light was glaring into their eyes but none of them wanted to get up and turn it off.

 

“Movies? Y’all said movies?” Jisung popped up out of nowhere, toothbrush in his mouth and hair still wet from taking a shower last.  “No horror.”

 

“Yes horror,” Seungmin smiled, and his hands flash momentarily. He was still feeling the residual rush of the concert as well—and it definitely wasn’t going to put him to sleep no matter how tired he was.

 

Minho soon appears out of his room with a sleeping mask on his forehead and he gasps. “Seungminnie, you’re a firebender?” He all but shouts it, incredulity very visible on his face. He looks kind of betrayed.

 

“Oh yeah, that,” Chan winces, standing up. “Tell everyone to get out here.”

 

As soon as the group was assembled in their living room, the messy announcement was made.

 

“Okay, so, I’ve noticed that a few of us in SKZ were ‘token benders’ of the group, but some people have been exposing themselves on the show,” he looks to Hyunjin’s arrow tattoos and then at Minho and Seungmin, who had both flashed on the show as some sort of fight or flight response. “I just want to say, if any more of us are benders, we should admit it now. Starting with myself.”

 

“Yourself?” Minho quirks a brow, but flinches backwards as the leader snaps his fingers and produces a spark. “You’re a firebender too! How is it that you two were able to keep so much control and hide it so well?”

 

“You keep it in your core, right?” Seungmin asks the elder. That’s what he did. “Isn’t that why you threw up… the day Felix left?”

 

The older firebender nods in agreement and Minho looks baffled because he’s never heard of the _‘keep it in your core’_ technique at all! If anything, he was told expelling the fire was a much healthier and safer alternative in the long run.

 

“What!” He yells, not caring that it was late at night. “What does that mean?”

 

“It means,” Chan pats his stomach, “You keep it in here. Like a furnace.”

 

“A burning, vomit-inducing furnace.” Seungmin explains. “I’ll show you. Feel.” He awkwardly directs his hand to his stomach, despite flinching a little at the contact. The rest of the band curiously crowd around to see what was supposed to happen. Seungmin looked at all the eyes and the back down. “Just do it! This is weird!”

 

Minho inches his hand closer, complaining, “I better not feel something weird, like a baby kick or something.”

 

“Hyung,” Seungmin says, annoyed. “It’s just heat.”

 

Minho puts his hand to the younger’s stomach and keeps it there for about one second and a half before he flinches back and blows his palm. He hissed in pain, and that made the others curiously want to see for themselves.

 

Felix and Woojin stood up to harass their leader, asking if they could feel his body heat, too.

 

“What even is that?” Felix pokes with one finger, before drawing back immediately. “What makes your stomach so hot? Is that even safe?”

 

“For the average person, this would be considered hyperthermia.”

 

“Hypothermia?” Woojin asks. “That’s being too cold.”

 

“No, I’m talking about _hyperthermia._ It’s being too hot. If one of you guys were ever to be near this temperature, it’d probably mean death,” Chan elaborates.

 

“Cool.” Jeongin laughs.

 

“How do keep it centered in your belly?” Minho asks. “Teach me.”

 

“You keep your chi energy focused inwards; into your torso, and let it sit in your stomach. It’s the only place that can contain it. You only want to draw it out when absolutely necessary. So not when you’re dancing.”

 

“So we have three firebenders. Is there anything else we should know about you guys before we move onto water—the best element. Do you guys’ lightningbend too?” Jisung asks with a hand up loosely.

 

“Nah.”

 

“I don’t know how to do that.”

 

“I can barely contain my freakin’ chi.”

 

“Well great because that lowers our risk of actually exploding by like fifty percent,” Jisung rambles. “Anyways, Channie-hyung already knows this but Changbin and I are waterbenders.”

 

“Yeah!” Changbin boasts, “I’m a future ice chief.”

 

“Wait,” Woojin laughs, “Two waterbenders and a firebender made music together. That’s gold.”

 

 _“Hyung,”_ the two waterbenders whined as Woojin giggled on about opposite elements.

 

“Fine, what do you do? Or are you gonna be a token non-bender?” Changbin asks, arm slung over Jisung.

 

“Actually, I was on my way to pro earthbending.”

 

“Oh shit,” Changbin’s eyes widened and he and Jisung scooted back jokingly. “You could drop a boulder on me.”

 

“You could literally drown someone. We definitely shouldn’t have the ‘who’s more dangerous’ conversation,” Woojin says, shutting it down.

 

“But you said you were going pro. How’d you even get into that field?” Changbin asks seriously curious.

 

Woojin scratches the back of his neck awkwardly with a light chuckle. “Oh, um, my mom was a Kyoshi Warrior back in the day… and it, um, sparked my interest in fighting. My dad signed me up for all types of mixed martial arts because he thought I was talented and stuff. But I always fell back on earthbending. My mom got me into it for fun but my dad wanted me to go pro. I wanted to sing so… here I am.”

 

“Oh my gosh and he stayed for us,” Changbin preens. “Isn’t that sweet.”

 

“I also earthbend,” Jeongin admits, ashamed because he doesn’t have a cool story or actual skill to show for it at all.

 

There was a chorus of disbelieving gasps of, _“Jeongin?”_

“I’m actually not full-blooded or whatever,” he cringes at the terminology, hating to describe himself as a mutt. “I kind of got lucky and caught the gene from my mother but she never taught me how to use it. I can barely pick up a pebble without getting a headache.”

 

Woojin hated the sound of that, so he immediately pipes up. “I’ll teach you.”

 

“You will?”

 

“Definitely. I don’t know why your mother never taught you how to use what you have but I’ll do it.”

 

“She’s said it before. Or at least implied it. She was hoping none of us could bend.”

 

Woojin sighs, asking the question that everyone was thinking. “She’s one of those that believe it’s a curse, isn’t she?”

 

Jeongin nods slowly. “I love her; but I hate that opinion of hers.”

 

It was even sadder because she had the geokinetic ability herself and let it go to waste. She was the type to think firebenders were the newest arsonists in the news, or that her fellow earthbenders were somehow the reason for climate change—even when that was the furthest thing from the truth. She also sometimes pinned the floods on innocent waterbending neighbors, all because she was _scared._

Hyunjin rubs his eyes. “I mean you all know about me and Felix then, right?”

 

His arms are on clear display since he was wearing short sleeves, but so were Felix’s and the Australian did not have any blue arrows on his arms.

 

“Felix?” Woojin says in disbelief. “So it’s everybody?”

 

“It’s everybody,” Minho mumbles, before screeching, “It’s everybody!”

 

“It’s nighttime, Min, please.”

 

“I can’t help it. I’m shook.” He states before feeling Hyunjin’s arm. The marks weren’t raised or anything but it was still so strange to see blue patterns dotting another person’s skin. Minho, ever the curious and straightforward, asks, “What do these tattoos mean?”

 

“It’s not many small tattoos, its one big tattoo,” Hyunjin corrects with a shiver, suddenly feeling cold at all the attention on him. “It’s the ancient belief that air connects all things on the planet. Everyone and everything needs air in some way or another or else nothing can function. That’s why the arrows all lead to different places—the hands, the feet, and the head—but they all connect at the spine.”

 

“Woah, that’s cool.” Jeongin says again, really finding himself in tune with the various bending culture lessons he was receiving. What were the fucking odds that all nine of them would be in a group together? Like this? Was this shit even legal? Maybe. But it’d never been done before!

 

“Felix, where are your tattoos then?” Chan points inquisitively.

 

The difference between Hyunjin and Felix’s arms was huge. But Felix liked to believe he was the better bender, even though Hyunjin was the more culturally aware bender of the two. They were opposites.

 

Before he could answer the uncomfortable question, Hyunjin spoke up for him.

 

“He couldn’t finish it because he started it in Australia,” he started with the truth but not the whole truth. Felix was grateful. Hyunjin continued. “My grandparents are going to complete it for him. You have the spinal part done, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Felix nods.

 

“Good, because that part hurts the most.”

 

“So we’re _all_ benders.” Woojin declares. “Well, that’s a boatload of information to take in.”

 

“Do the PDs know that they just debuted a group that is a hundred percent benders?” Jeongin inquires and the others actually pause to think about it.

 

Changbin shuts it down quickly when he says, “You know what, let’s _not_ go down that path today. I’m suddenly extremely tired so let’s just go to sleep.”

 

Everyone agrees, forcing the complicated thoughts to the bareback of their minds.

 

 

+++[지구 ▪ 공기 ▪ 불 ▪ 물]+++

 

 

The first thing on Stray Kids’ marketing agenda was compacting all their pre-debut titles into one album. The band simply decided to call the collection ‘Mixtape.’

 

The second thing on the agenda was actually dropping a debut song, which they had in the bag. They had a song prepared that perfectly showcased their explosive flavor, proudly written by the bandmates themselves.

 

‘District 9’ was a song about explosive potential, which was nothing new in a debut song, but nine of them each had a certain amount of seconds to completely draw a listener in and make them believe that they were witnessing the powers of _District 9_ themselves. Stray Kids equal District 9 and District 9 equals Stray Kids. Period.

 

They had spent hours upon hours perfecting every one of the seven tracks on their debut ‘I Am Not’ album. They had cursed each other out, argued, laughed, and giggled throughout the entire progress and it was a spectacle to behold for all the company producers who took part in their creative process.

 

That’s why when the first day of shooting arrives for their video, Jeongin is more than pumped. He smiles widely at all the employees, proudly showing off his metal-mouthed, brace-faced galore. He’s extra excited because he knows that when this video drops his mom with be the first viewer and she’ll be so proud. All he wants is for her to be proud of what he can do, what he can make, and what he can produce. She’s already been so supportive thus far; he wanted to show her that all the love and cringeworthy forms of support hadn’t gone to waste.

 

Jeongin, or I.N, as he’s been rebranded, had coughed a little when they added a powdered something to his face, making him nearly a ghostly pale to fit the dreamy, edgy _anti K-pop_ K-pop aesthetic. He was wearing an uncomfortable white jumpsuit that he was due to peel off and replace with some oversized clothes fit for a revolution—much like the theme of the video. The directors had pitched it to them, saying they wanted the video to be a parallel of the song. They didn’t play by the rules because they were strays. They broke out of confinement because they were strays. They drove the ugly, un-aerodynamic bus through the gates of Hell because they were strays.

 

The iconic tagline that would follow each pivotal point— _“Stray Kids everywhere, all around the world.”_

It took a good three weeks to shoot and edit the video in its entirety and that was only because they were rookies. The last music video they had filmed lacked a storyline and was just them dancing in red light while sadly riding elevators out of a metaphorical hellscape.

 

When they watched the final product though, they were beyond hyped and couldn’t contain the urge to poke fun at each other and wonder just how many views they could conjure up.

 

“I’ve never seen a squirrel rap so fast!” Seungmin had said, poking Jisung’s squishy cheek. The other gives him a fake annoyed expression.

 

“You look better on camera than you do IRL,” Hyunjin jabs the other playfully.

 

“Did you just abbreviate in real life?” Jisung asks, immune to the insult; either that or the joke flew over his head and into a tree.

 

Changbin snorted, as if he was safe, but Minho quickly fixes that, giggling and pointing at the screen, “Look! It’s the Crimson Chin.”

 

“Aw,” Changbin mutters, rubbing his chin like he’d been punched, “You guys suck.”

 

“Woah, but can we look at Woojin-hyung for a sec?” Felix says, a bit dazed, before turning to the elder. “You looked so cool.”

 

Woojin, who the others had learned to be somewhat of a bougie princess, flips his invisible shoulder length hair and shrugs comically, “Hm, I try.”

 

The laugh that it draws out of Felix is infectious and makes the rest of the group let out shouts of their own laughs.

 

This laughter however, didn’t compare to the laughter they elicited when they hit their first mil. _That_ was a milestone.

 

 

+++[불 ▪ 공기]+++

 

 

Their first public, variety show interview consisted of them sitting jittery on IKEA stools while high off coffee and Gatorade electrolytes respectively.

 

Everybody had black hair except the Aussie line, who were nearly both platinum blond, and the interviewer made sure to crack a joke about that after they’d introduced themselves with a bow.

 

“Okay, so, Stray Kids. You’re a new rookie group but you’ve already amassed a following and it’s growing, I believe,” the man pauses for the boys to humbly agree, “Besides the amazing music that touches your fans’ hearts, do you also think the survival show played a part in boosting you guys?”

 

They knew what he was really asking.

 

_Are you getting popular because of your benders?_

 

After all, two of them exploded on the show and it did pull in tons of ratings from demographics that were otherwise uninterested.

 

“You, Seungmin?” The nosy man asks.

 

“I just remember getting sick a lot,” Seungmin said with a shy laugh, remembering his nausea spells. “It was no biggie.”

 

“And Minho?”

 

He smiled, oddly enough, which threw everyone off. But he was polite and concise when he answers. “I think people just like our style in general.”

 

“Bang Chan, then, how is all of this positive feedback affecting you as a leader?”

 

He smiles, turning to the man while almost bouncing in his seat like a child. “It makes me feel energized. I like making feel-good music and I like that it makes people feel good.”

 

“Okay, so please advertise this album,” the interviewer challenged, handing him a copy.

 

The leader quirks a brow at the familiar album shoved into his hands. “Felix, a little help? I’ll do Korean, you’ll do English?”

 

“Sure,” the airbender had shrugged.

 

The older of the two had finished his basic yet glamorized description of the album and its contents before passing it along to Felix who just kept flipping through pages and ogling at the photo cards.

 

“We’ve got these photo cards here! And, wow, look at that! Photo books! It’s just a whole lot of photos and pretty people and here’s our website right here,” he rambled with a laugh, pointing all over the page, making the others in the room laugh at his antics. He kind of had a personality built for variety, they soon figured out. He ended with a semi-forced, “Yay, support Stray Kids!”

 

 

+++[지구]+++

 

 

At their second, not first, fan signing event, they are all showered with plush toys and jokes and the shouts of female and male teen fans. Jeongin admires seeing the power of their small influence already manifesting, but he inwardly cringes when he sees one of his ex-classmates. That was bound to be awkward.

 

And it sure was. But now the dynamic changed, so it was no longer two awkward students forced to work on a project together speaking, but it was a young idol giving attention to his fan.

 

So, Jeongin pushes back all the odd feelings and beams at her, gratefully accepting the bubble gun she gifts him with. “Do you remember me?”

 

Of course he did! How could he forget the girl that threw a tantrum in first grade after receiving a yellow card? A yellow card wasn’t even that bad! Granted, it wasn’t the greatest, but, it costs the class an ice-cream party and Jeongin would forever be salty about that. This same girl was in his class again in seventh grade science and they failed a project together because neither of them were the brains of their friend groups. They had a looping habit of meeting with a long pause in the middle before meeting again. This time, the circumstances were outside of school, and instead of headmasters there were managers walking around, acting as bodyguards and safety officers.

 

“Yeah, of course I do. Ji Kyunghwa, right? How’ve you been?”

 

“Great, great. When I saw you in my YouTube recommendations with the JYP sticker I almost had a stroke,” the girl admits, and Jeongin bites down an inappropriate titter. “I was like ‘I know that’s not Jeongin from middle school’ and then boom! It was Jeongin from middle school.”

 

Jeongin laughs and his eyes crinkle up. Kyunghwa manages to look awestruck despite knowing him since childhood.

 

“Yeah, to be honest debuting even caught me by surprise.”

 

The long hair girl smiles before receiving a mug from one of the managers. She slides him an album copy. “Can you sign this real quick? I’ve gotta say just one thing—‘School Life’ goes hard and ‘Grow Up’ speaks to me on a spiritual level. Okay, bye.”

 

She slides down to the next member and despite not being far away at all, I.N becomes consumed by the attention of another fan. A happy-go-lucky chick with blue highlights who introduced herself as Yumi, someone who had been rooting for Jeongin since the show. Jeongin recognizes her from the busking event and suddenly finds himself immersed in a micro-minute convo with her as well. 

 

All the lighthearted banter is temporarily frozen when they hear two voices, a male and a female, suddenly shout, seemingly out of nowhere— “Kim Woojin is a _dirt roller!”_

There is a collective flinch that waves through the boys—some of them having never heard that phrase before but already knew it was bad, while others had heard of the phrase but never been in its direct line of fire.

 

Jeongin has definitely heard of the phrase, but he’s never been personally attacked by it like that. His mother wouldn’t allow it. So when he turns to his side and sees Woojin temporarily paralyzed with shock, before he shakes his head and smiles it all off, he’s rendered speechless.

 

Woojin was a fucking superhuman.

 

The two hecklers were escorted out but it did nothing to cool the gossip and endless talking that it sparked.

 

‘Dirt roller’ was one of the many cultural slurs designed specifically to attack benders—specifically earthbenders. Their insults included a wide array of sick phrases like _‘boondock crawler’, ‘dirt roller’, ‘mud mouth’,_ and _‘Medusa,’_ which referred to their characteristically sharper features. Jeongin was pretty sheltered, so upon hearing those words he was more confused than anything. But Woojin’s reaction wasn’t natural and he didn’t like it one bit. It wasn’t drastic—because Woojin-hyung didn’t want to bother anyone, as usual—but it was a brief change in expression that made the younger’s mental meter go haywire.

 

Hopefully he was okay.

 

But how had those… audience members even find out that he was an earthbender?

 

Jeongin would investigate later… but for now, he’d have to just… continue the niceties with the fans who were just as—if not even more—confused as he was.

 

“Hi,” he smiles at another fan, interlocking fingers with them. “Thank you for listening to Stray Kids.”

 

 

+++[지구]+++

 

 

Woojin had locked himself in a room. He was the number one member that hated when the others distanced themselves like that, and yet here he was, doing that exact thing.

 

He didn’t even have it in him to cry despite shaking with some sort of confusing mix of overlapping emotions and not knowing how to cope.

 

The other 97-liner had tried to coax him out of the room to no avail. The geokinetic boy refused to get off the bed and release the comfort pillow that he was squeezing, letting his first hot tear drop onto.

 

This time, though, Jeongin tries. Carefully, as to not rile him up more or freak him out, he knocks. When Woojin grunts in response and the youngest hears a sniffle, he knows it’s bad, and he braces himself.

 

Woojin wasn’t the type to cry. Not by himself.

 

Woojin was an extremely empathetic type of guy; he cried with others and for others, so to witness him cry for himself is worrisome. He was always the support system for everyone else. He was everyone else’s comfort pillow.

 

So Jeongin’s voice trembles just a wee bit when he knocks on the door again and warns, “If you don’t let me in, hyung, I’ll get the airbenders to knock this door down… You know they’ll do it.”

 

Unsurprisingly, it worked, but the elder says nothing to him.

 

Jeongin invites himself to the other’s bed, sitting with him in silence for a few seconds just to let the other breathe. He wipes his tears quickly like he was embarrassed but Jeongin doesn’t think he has reason to be. He unlocks his phone, showing the elder what he’d learnt through his independent investigation.

 

“Hyung, you never told me you were a literal champion,” Jeongin scrolls through the old article, with the picture of a young Woojin with a gold medallion around his neck and a huge slab of stone being held above his head with his bending alone. “Look, I’m sorry you had to hear those words… I…”

 

There were numerous articles online of a preteen Woojin beating up adult men in bending melees. He wasn’t just some kid getting trained; he was a prodigy—but he threw it away for his real dream.

 

That’s why Woojin laughs bitterly, if that weak sound could even constitute as a laugh. “I’m sorry you had to hear it. It was an insult to both of us,” Woojin rub his eyes, keeping his head low, “It’s not even my first time hearing it. I, I don’t know why I’m overreacting,”—Jeongin wanted to correct him and say all his reactions were valid, but he continued—“I guess it’s ‘cause I expected… ah, this is cheesy… but I expected everyone to love me as in idol.”

 

“Instead of a talented fighter?”

 

“That’s a stereotype about us that I didn’t want to play into. But I did. And it followed me here. Jeongin,” he looks up, and even though tears were running down his face, he spoke very certainly and stably when he said, “I hate those words.”

 

Woojin… was not a fucking superhuman. Nobody was.

 

The younger doesn’t know what to do so he mimics what the elder has always done for him and gave him a hug. He definitely needed one.

 

“I hate them too.”

 

Sooner or later, despite Woojin’s initial protest, Jeongin and Woojin face the backlash together after coming out of the first closet—the bender’s closet—and revealing to all their Stays and the rest of the Korean-infatuated world that they were geokinetic benders.

 

Some people applauded their bravery despite the anger and slurs being thrown at them from the old-heads and non-bender supremacists. Stays had a field day on social media, shooting lots of love their way.

 

 

 

 

>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **_TWITTER!_ **
> 
> _@username | **kha yu <3 mx, skz, loona**_
> 
> _If yall ain’t here to support the nation’s teddy bear then what the FUCK are yall on? he literally has the powers of an anime protagonist and yall mad? Tf??_
> 
> **_32_ ** _Retweets | **100** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **Giselle hugged n kissed y…**_
> 
> _@username I KNOW YOU DID NOT JUST CALL WOOJIN AN ANIME PROTAGONIST LMAOOOO so what does that make jeongin?_
> 
> **_1_ ** _Retweet | **5** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **Giselle hugged n kissed y…**_
> 
> _No but srsly, woojin and i.n didnt work just as hard – or maybe even 2x that – to be seen as worthy idols only for you all to drag them for powers that’re out of their control_
> 
> **_96_ ** _Retweets | **231** Likes _
> 
> _@username | **+windstorm deja+**_
> 
> _Why do yall keep trying to force that uglyass “atypical” label on popular benders like stray kids anyway???? I’m an airbender and we’ve been around as long as every1 else! Atypical implies tht we’re new/strange +_
> 
> **_14_ ** _Retweets | **70** Likes_
> 
> ****
> 
> _@username **| +windstorm deja+**_
> 
> _\+ when in reality nothing abt us benders is new or exotic. We’ve been sharing the earth w our FELLOW HUMAN BEINGS for centuries and it wont change. **#StopAlienatingBendingIdols**_
> 
> **_13_ ** _Retweets | **52** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **hawai’i sienna**_
> 
> _Answer this, since yall wanna be THANOS sooo bad. how r benders atypical if they make up half the population? OF THE WORLD, BIH **#StopAlienatingBendingIdols**_
> 
> **_899_ ** _Retweets | **1,347** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **myra saw mx**_
> 
> _Stray kids everywhere all around the world…. I wanna do a fan project to send love to Woojin and Jeongin. Who’s in?_
> 
> **_311_ ** _Retweets | **700** Likes_
> 
> _@username_
> 
> _Skz bender tally: HJ, SM, MH, WJ, and JI… 5/9… the majority…. They wild as shit for doing that. The group is never gonna get popular now… tf are they gonna sing about now? Smashing rocks over ppl’s heads? Lighting ppl up??_
> 
> **_5,003_ ** _Retweets | **9,021** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **kha yu <3 mx, skz, loona**_
> 
> _@username soooooooooooo youre just gonna ignore the fact that fake fans bought tickets to a fan sign only to yell cultural slurs at him??? youre on crack sis. 5/9 is good. **#Representation** , fool._
> 
> **_973_ ** _Retweets | **10,206** Likes _
> 
> _@username | **+windstorm deja+**_
> 
> _I honest to god hope more of the members are benders just to piss you bitches off. The real fans will look past that and stan for their MUSIC and personality. So stop all tht bullshit._
> 
> **_18_ ** _Retweets | **48** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **+windstorm deja+**_
> 
> _Also just bc Woojin has a past in fighting FOR SPORT doesn’t mean he’s a violent person. The other members call him a teddy bear like come on! That’s a neg stereotype abt geo benders and its TIRED. Toph the Great did not fight for this!_
> 
> **_1,212_ ** _Retweets | **4,903** Likes_

One time, Jeongin had made an offhand comment during one of their live videos, explaining why he smiled so much.

 

He wasn’t necessarily always joyful, and the fans who had seen him admit that on the survival show knew that, but he had to explain further.

 

His features. He had some elements of the earthbender phenotype, and while it wasn’t nearly as obvious as Woojin’s, it was there.

 

“People have told me that my eyes come off too strong when my face is resting. I have a resting mean face,” he says cleanly with a shrug, before demonstrating. The other member marvel at his apparent shift in demeanor. Yes, his eyes looked incredibly sharp, and when he wasn’t smiling, the angle of his jaw was clear-cut. “I look like I hate everyone and everything, but I really don’t. That’s why I have to smile as often as I do.”

 

Changbin pinched his cheek, and smiled at him, joking, “People say that I look like an earthbender.”

 

The other members laugh, because they knew the truth and the rest of the world didn’t. The inside joke was gold.

 

Jeongin immediately shot him down while dropping his smile for extra comedic effect. “Absolutely not.”

 

Woojin’s laugh after that was very bubbly.

 

Jeongin was a stone-face Medusa and he was proud.

 

 

+++[불]+++

 

 

“Take a deep breath,” Seungmin instructs the elder on one Sunday morning.

 

They were till clad in pajamas and Chan was with them, watching tiredly with a toothbrush in his mouth and toothpaste foaming on his chin.

 

Seungmin’s hands rise upwards towards his chest as he inhales, full yoga mode, and downward when he exhales.

 

A flame is exhaled from Seungmin’s mouth, extra hot blue at the tip, coming out cleanly like it was coming from a lighter.

 

“It’s blue. That’s really hot,” Minho notes before copying. He had produced a flame but it had been measly compared to the younger. “This is embarrassing. I’m the hyung! I’m supposed to teach you stuff!”

 

There was a very self-depreciating edge to his words, and Chan chimes in, mumbling past the foam in his mouth, “It takes time.”

 

Then he got up and went to the bathroom, spitting out the toothpaste and gargling some mouthwash.

 

“Just try it again. The good thing is that after you get it once, it’s automatic.”  Seungmin says before mumbling under his breath, “The bad thing is that you’ll probably puke your guts out.”

 

“What was that?” Minho says, eyebrows jumping on his face.

 

“Nothing,” Seungmin says, peachy. “Do it again.”

 

After the next four tries, Minho does manage to get his chi to actually follow his directions. He feels tingles on all his fingers and toes before a chill runs through his body, pushing the heat downwards into his stomach. At the foreign sensation, his stomach gurgles and churns, reacting wildly, and Minho gags. Seungmin scoots backwards, immediately shouting, “Get out of the bathroom!”

 

Chan gets out, confused, before he looks at Minho, who looked a bit green, and he kicks the door open wider with an exasperated sigh, knowing the feeling all too well.

 

Minho rushes into the bathroom and slams the door, successfully waking up even Felix and Woojin, who were notorious morning sleepers, much like Chris himself. The sound of his retching definitely doesn’t compare to birdsongs in the morning but the other two pyrokinetics saw it coming.

 

“Well… That’s kind of a success.” Seungmin says, wide-eyed and unsure. Minho was still retching in the bathroom. “We need another bathroom.”

 

Jisung comes out of his room, pinching his nose. “Did y’all kill him?”

 

Eventually, later that day, Minho does achieve his goal, holding the flame in his stomach and swallowing it down. The other two warn him to be wary of how he expresses himself though, because there was always the chance of it coming up unexpectedly as dragon breath or boiling hot emesis.

 

 

+++[공기]+++

 

 

When Stray Kids got their sixth rookie award, Hyunjin had called his grandparents.

 

“Granddad,” he started, sounding mischievous, “I have to ask you a favor.”

 

“Huh?” His grandfather scolds jokingly with a throaty chuckle, “You never want to call just to say hello. You’ll be in trouble with your grandma.”

 

“Well, tell her it involves me visiting,” he responds, “It involves an airbender friend of mine.”

 

“He needs a mark?”

 

Hyunjin could hear the amusement and giddiness in the older man’s tone. His grandfather has loved drawing since his childhood, so he’d take any opportunity to draw on someone’s skin, especially if it was on Hyunjin’s behalf.

 

Hyunjin chuckles at how his family knew. “Yes, he needs a mark. Can we come this weekend?”

 

“Hyunjinnie, you know we’d need the whole week if he’s getting an airbender tattoo.”

 

“Oh, Hyunjinnie’s on the phone!” He hears his cheerful, squishy grandmother in the background. “Let me talk to him!”

 

“I’ll talk to our team,” Hyunjin rushes. “We’ve been doing good, so I’ll ask for a week off.”

 

Later, when Hyunjin does as the team for a week off, he’s met with protests from them, saying that they need to use all the positive traction from their rookie awards to continue promoting.

 

Hyunjin begs them—as a last resort—to just come clean with a statement, saying he’d be off on some air nomad retreat or something. People who didn’t understand would criticize his culture day and night, but at least he’d keep his promise to Felix.

 

Speaking of which…

 

“How would we explain Felix disappearing with you?” The female PR manager folds her arms. “As far as the public’s concerned, Felix isn’t a bender.”

 

“Well, we could tell them. At this point, they’re waiting for another reveal.” Hyunjin argues.

 

The woman gives him a motherly stare, urging him to think about what he just said, before she retorts. “I can’t just out Yongbok like that. And you know it’s not for you to decide either. If he agrees to tell the world he’s a bender as well then I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“Oh my God, yes!” Hyunjin jumps, making a gust of wind around the room with his long limbs. Papers fly, but he sheepishly continues, “You could say we went to the Himalayas or something.”

 

“Hyunjin.” There was a long pause before she turned for the door, grabbing her fallen papers. “You’re something else. The others’ll promote and we’ll say you went… somewhere.”

 

“Thank you Manager Yuhn!”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let Yongbok talk to me, okay?”

 

“Gotcha.” Hyunjin stutters, “I, I mean y-yes, Ms. Yuhn.”

 

She wasn’t exactly one of the manager hyungs that Hyunjin could be more casual with.

 

Therefore, Hyunjin found himself dragging Felix out of the room and down the halls to go find her once they were finished filming some random fanservice game thingamajiggy they were playing.

 

“Ms. Yuhn said that she’d help us get a week off to get your air tattoos at my grandparents’ shop if and only if—”

 

“Hyunjin, you’re doing the most right now, just say it.” Felix urges, a bit out of breath from dashing through the halls.

 

“The only explanation that’s actually true and makes sense is that we’re out on airbender business. So you have to agree to her releasing a statement about you.”

 

Felix lets the thought marinate before he agrees. “Alright. I’d rather tell people than have them find out.”

 

They shudder at Woojin’s experience.

 

“Great, now tell her that.”

 

 

 

 

 

> **_TWITTER!_ **
> 
>  
> 
> _@officialjype | **JYP Nation**_
> 
> _STRAY KIDS **#HYUNJIN** and **#FELIX** will be excluded from promotions for the next week because of airbender (aerokinetic) culture activities. Please look forward to STRAY KIDS appearance on XYZ TV!_
> 
> **_37,773_ ** _Retweets | **68,426** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **Giselle hugged n kissed y…**_
> 
> _OMG I’M ABOUT TO COMBUST. FELIX IS AN AIRBENDER YALL I-_
> 
> **_3,000_ ** _Retweets | **4,817** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **+windstorm deja+**_
> 
> _Bitches be thinkin they’re psychic. I’m bitches. I’m calling it, skz are ALL benders! Periodt. **#FELIX**_
> 
> **_2,004_ ** _Retweets | **5,688** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **kha yu <3 mx, skz, loona**_
> 
> _@username DEJA YOUR MIND! :D ya braincells on level 10!_
> 
> **_1_ ** _Retweet | **1** Like_
> 
> _@username | **+windstorm deja+**_
> 
> _Yall the only culture activity they could be doing is getting the tattoos kssjssk I haven’t even gotten mine yet bc I’m a bitch but I’m older than them ksskssasjk_
> 
> **_212_ ** _Retweets | **516** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **hawai’i sienna**_
> 
> _@username oof deja u’re right….. felix’s arms were never tatted on the show and Hyunjin always wore long sleeves except for one ep._
> 
> **_9_ ** _Retweets | **16** Likes_
> 
> _@username_
> 
> _Those freeloader ass benders are probably just tryna get a vacation! Airbenders are always so childish and lazy. Smh there are trainees who’d love to promote their songs like that._
> 
> **_22_ ** _Retweets | **19** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **hawai’i sienna**_
> 
> _@username SHUT YOUR LIZARD ASS UP._
> 
> **_2,104_ ** _Retweets | **2,509** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **Giselle hugged n kissed y…**_
> 
> _@username you wicked bitch. Witch. Witch ass bitch! How do you insult some1 for participating in their own culture? **#StopAlienatingBendingIdols**_
> 
> **_14_ ** _Retweets | **36** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **+windstorm deja+**_
> 
> _I heard Australia is much more welcoming of their benders. Felix’s not gonna know what to do w all this mess._
> 
> **_3_ ** _Retweets | **30** Likes_
> 
> _@username_
> 
> _Why the hell would they get those stupid ass tattoos on them anyway???? Tattoos are so ugly and those blue arrows are really the worst of the worst._
> 
> **_51_ ** _Retweets | **101** Likes_
> 
> _@username_
> 
> _Every idol gets in big trouble for getting tattoos but some underage fucking airbenders get a week long field trip to go do just that? Bullshit. Fuck that lame ass “its their culture” excuse too._
> 
> **_4,419_ ** _Retweets | **6,606** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **kha yu <3 mx, skz, loona**_
> 
> _@username we all know that its unfair and wrong. Tattoos honestly shouldn’t be that big of a deal. But don’t blame the boys and don’t insult their heritage like that either. that’s ugly hun  :*_
> 
> **_9,321_ ** _Retweets | **13,449** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **+windstorm deja+**_
> 
> _Airbenders are the rarest elementals out there. y o y must you treat us like shit?! We’re already a minority :( ppl always callin us childish like,,, :(_
> 
> **_1,020_ ** _Retweets | **9,021** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **kha yu <3 mx, skz, loona**_
> 
> _@username i love you deja. <33 :(_
> 
> **_20_ ** _Retweets | **130** Likes_

When Felix first sees Hyunjin’s grandparents, they’re not at all what he was expecting. He was kind of ready to see a cuddly old couple wearing fuzzy sweaters who just happened to have tattoos hidden under their sleeves.

 

He wasn’t expecting a grungy tattoo parlor with photos of all their work strewn about, an overhead television playing soap operas and a backdoor that led to a kitchen.

 

The old couple could be heard walking from what sounded like some stairs.

 

“Their house is above the shop,” Hyunjin explains in a whisper.

 

Felix is a bit taken aback by what he saw, because they definitely weren’t the typical conservative, traditional old-heads he was expecting. He noticed that both of them had their tattoos run all the way to their foreheads, and that already let the young Australian know that he would like the two badasses.

 

Hyunjin’s grandmother was a welcoming, energetic small woman who had a pep in her step despite her age and the piping hot tea she held in one hand. She greeted Felix and asked him to show her some moves.

 

Felix happily stepped to the side, circling with his hand above the floor to make a steady ball of wind. He then sat on it—or above it, he should say—levitating off the ground with the ball of air pushing him upwards and letting him hover. He kept his hands in his lap to keep it steady; but the older airbenders were impressed and clapped a little. Felix beams.

 

“Thank you for doing this.” He said shyly.

 

“It’s no problem, son. Any friend of Hyunjinnie is a friend of ours,” Granddad spoke.

 

Grandma agreed with a warm smile, missing a tooth in the front. Her slippers shifted across the floor as she asked, “You babies want some tea? Candies? I’ve got candies.”

 

“Chocolate?” Felix asks.

 

“Of course!” She smiles. “A Hershey Kiss to keep the pain away.”

 

“My pain tolerance is trash. I might need a handful,” the boy admits.

 

The old couple laugh, poking fun at their grandson.

 

“You can’t be any worse than Hyunjin. He cried and flinched the whole time. And kept asking for breaks! There’s some annoying little errors on his legs because of it,” Granddad laughs as Hyunjin’s face flushes. “Take off your shirt and lie down. Let’s see.”

 

“Granddad!” Hyunjin whines petulantly. “You didn’t have to tell him all that!” He pops a Kiss in his mouth.

 

Then Grandma kisses his forehead. “Suck it up, buttercup,” she laughs, and Hyunjin groans some more.

 

“Stop trying to be hip,” he whines some more, and Felix giggles as they wipe the antiseptic on his back.

 

“Um… Granddad,” Felix starts awkwardly, not really knowing if he should still be formal with the chill old couple, “Who did your tattoo?”

 

“The beautiful lady that handed you a chocolate,” he replies casually.

 

Felix glances at her. “You did each other’s?”

 

“Yup. Sure did. That was on our honeymoon.”

 

Felix chuckled. “Not your typical honeymoon.”

 

Hyunjin slumped in his chair, wondering why Felix was entertaining their deep reminiscing.

 

“Definitely not, because kids came three years after.” Grandma cackles when Hyunjin covers his ears and fake cries. Felix holds in a laugh behind his hands, sharply inhaling when he feel the needle in his back finishing the art piece his grandmother had started in Australia.

 

He groans in pain and Hyunjin scoots the chair closer to his friend, holding the other boy’s hand and letting him squeeze.

 

“This feels like shit,” Felix laughs, even though there are tears in his eyes. He squeezes harder. Hyunjin squeezes back. “Yup, definite shit.”

 

Grandma pops another chocolate in the boy’s mouth before declaring, “We’ll each take an arm and a leg. Maybe we’ll be finished by Friday. I’ll take your bags.”

 

Hyunjin looks at her sharply and immediately stops her. “Grandma, don’t touch those bags. I’ll take them later. You just relax.”

 

She looks at her grandson proudly and praises him for being cool and manly. To distract Felix, who already had some crimson blood showing, she asked them about idol life and how it felt to win those awards.

 

“I watch you guys on TV every day. You all are some funny little boys.” Grandma praises.

 

Hyunjin pouts, jutting out his lower lip. “I thought you just called me a man, grandma.”

 

“You’re a man to your fans, but you’re grandma’s little boy,” she said brushing her long, gray hair out of her face to look at her child’s child. Felix feels himself tense at the deep needle poking at his vertebrae but finds it in him to laugh. “And you’re grandma’s little boy too.”

 

“By association,” Granddad mutters, concentrated. “Tell that to all of your brothers, yeah, Hyunjinnie? That your grandparents claimed them as honorary grandkids.”

 

“Will do,” Hyunjin says, and he groans when Felix attempts to rearrange the bones in his hands with a devilish _squeeze._

 

Felix groans some more but it kind of faded into background noise. “It hurts.”

 

In conclusion, the stay at Hyunjin’s grandparents place was a very wholesome one.

 

 

+++[공기]+++

 

 

“Aw, don’t kill me!” Felix whines, bouncing in his seat with tension. The tattoo on his arm was by all means healed at this point, but Felix’s brain had a habit of making contact in that area feel way more electrifying than necessary. So when he got caught in this situation, he was scared.

 

The fans had wavered and was in a state of weird flux once the rest of the members exposed their bending abilities in a number of ways, and they made the company’s stock rise and fall at alarming rates like a company heartbeat. The news coverage they got was crazy, and everyone—both Stays, general non-fans, and outright haters—tuned into their every move to see what they were up to—to see how they live.

 

They had also dropped another album that did pretty well for itself. Fans and general listeners had praised them for somehow being relatable despite their bending abilities. But they got it all wrong. They were relatable because of their bending abilities. They had to live both lives—the average person, wandering through life and school and work, or sometimes they’d be the bender who burns themselves with their own flame.

 

But in this current situation, Felix was waiting for Jisung to smack the shit out of his arm so it could be over with instead.

 

Preferring to not do that, Jisung does the unexpected, smooching Felix’s arm which only caused the day younger boy to glare at him, wanting to smack him for almost killing him with the suspense.

 

“Han. Seriously!”

 

Jisung flinches back with a strained laugh.

 

When Changbin and Jisung had come out as waterbenders, people literally protested, making a petition for them to leave. They claimed they were too dangerous as waterbenders because there was the potential for _bloodbending._ But that logic was rocky at best because bloodbending had been illegal as soon as it had been discovered—thousands of years ago. Nobody knew how to do it anyway!

 

 

 

 

 

>  
> 
> **_TWITTER!_ **
> 
> ****
> 
> _@username_
> 
> _Those two stray kids rappers will mess around and freeze/evaporate your blood_
> 
> **_19_ ** _Retweets | **34** Likes_
> 
> _@username_
> 
> _I wonder how many times they almost k*lled each other over creative disagreement kekeke I don’t doubt that they brawl in the studio_
> 
> **_82_ ** _Retweets | **115** Likes_
> 
> _@username_
> 
> _And they love to act all cuddly and cute as if they aren’t walking war machines smh why are they making music lmaooo if they don’t go get their asses drafted and be useful **#DangersToSociety**_
> 
> **_13_ ** _Retweets | **16** Likes_
> 
> _@username_
> 
> _But I bet Changbin and Han could make a bomb ass ice sculpture…. How much do you think he’d charge? akekeke my cousin’s gettind married lol_
> 
> **_10_ ** _Retweets | **47** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **kha yu <3 mx, skz, loona**_
> 
> _Alright yall so I’m here to clear Changbin and Han’s searches so lets flood it with positivity!!! :). mkay? We love our water tribe boys **#StaysLoveWater**_
> 
> **_2,894_ ** _Retweets | **7,539** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **Giselle hugged n kissed y…**_
> 
> **_#StaysLoveWater_ ** _and Seo Changbin and Han Jisung and Chris and 3RACHA! Fire and Ice for life!_
> 
> **_144_ ** _Retweets | **2,201** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **hawai’i sienna**_
> 
> _Knowing what we know now… 3RACHA DID YALL PLAY FIREBOY AND WATERGIRL?? **#StaysLoveWater**_
> 
> **_4,014_ ** _Retweets | **4,383** Likes_

+++[지구]+++

 

 

Throughout the busy year, whenever they had the chance, Woojin and Jeongin would sneak away to either a nearby construction clearing in an open forest, or they’d stop by Woojin’s old gym to practice. Technically, they were trespassing in the construction zone; but they’d never been caught so far.

 

Usually, their freest time was at night, when the members were either fast asleep or at the studio.

 

“Show me what you can do so far.” Woojin had asked, shivering in the night air despite his jacket.

 

Jeongin’s eyebrows come close together as he strains his hands, trying to motion for some clay dirt to move with his hand. He barely lifts up a clump, but it was progress.

 

Much better than they little jar of sand he had brought from Busan.

 

“I see what you’re trying to do,” Woojin states.

 

“Yeah, I’m trying to earthbend,” the younger kicks some loose dirt haphazardly.

 

“Earthbending isn’t about bending the plants or the roots. And it’s not about bending the deepest mineral either. Stone and soil are both very stubborn things, you’ve got to discipline yourself before you can discipline them.” Woojin pauses. “Woah, I sounded like my parents for a sec,” he laughs.

 

“Okay, Mister Kyoshi Warrior. How do I discipline myself?”

 

Woojin stretches. “First off, you understand that you’ll never be able to control an element.”

 

That sounded like an insult, and the youngest struggles to respond to the sudden animosity. “What?”

 

“What I mean by that is,” Woojin began, before stomping and palm striking a huge boulder into the distance, “you never really control an element. It’s a collaboration. You play your role and the element will play theirs. You can’t control Mother Nature.”

 

“Oh. That… makes sense.”

 

“And since stone and soil are both so stubborn, you have to be extremely patient. You only strike when you know you can make it. Like now. I’m going to throw this rock at you,” Woojin picks up a white round rock the size of a brick. “I won’t let it hit you, but I really want you to try to bend it away—or even better—change its shape.”

 

“Hyung, just because I can pick some things up doesn’t mean I can—”

 

“Go long!” Woojin shouts, already backing up and pitching. Seungmin would be pissed that they were playing pseudo-baseball without him.

 

“Oh my God,” Jeongin inhales when he sees the stone barreling for his face. His beautiful, young face. He remembers how sharp and loud all of Woojin’s motions are when he bends, and he decides to do the same. He drew his hand up and tugged it downward sharply making a fist and the rock split into nearly perfect halves before crumbling at his feet, dusting up his black shoes. “I did it!”

 

“See,” Woojin drawls, “That wasn’t so hard. Next thing you know I’ll be putting you in Kyoshi makeup.”

 

“Like Lee Jooheon?” Jeongin cackles, referencing the senior artist’s childhood pictures of him clad in his mother’s Kyoshi makeup on one Culture Day.

 

 

+++[불 ▪ 물]+++

 

 

One time, while on live with the members of 3RACHA, a fan had asked what Chan’s goals were. Goals were constantly being met and changing, so at this point, his list had been completely turned upside down.

 

“I think mine would be for them to stop cutting slits in my eyebrows,” Changbin joked, playing with his turtleneck.

 

Jisung cackles and a water bottle topples over, nearly spilling on the laptop in between them. The two of them both catch it, solidifying it to icicles out of boredom.

 

“Hm, I kind of wanna go on ‘King of Masked Singer.’” Jisung comments offhandedly with a shrug. His hair was honey blond and longer now, but he still looked like a baby. He looks up to the older two. “Minho-hyung said I could do it. Y’all think so?”

 

Changbin shrugs, but then gives a solid nod. “Mm-hm.”

 

Chan finally answers, saying that his goal was to continue representing benders as cool people with his two hydrokinetic brothers, two pyrokinetic brothers, two aerokinetic brothers, and his two geokinetic brothers.

 

Changbin proceeds to call him a gross sap but then the leader finds himself squished between another hug.

 

 

 

 

> **_TWITTER!_ **
> 
> _@username | **hawai’i sienna**_
> 
> _skz is australia’s national boy group. they d e s e r v e it :(:_
> 
> _**210** Retweets | **2,011** Likes_
> 
> _@username | **Giselle hugged n kissed y…**_
> 
> _Chris’s dream is bender representation in korea im-! **#StrayKids** :,) _
> 
> **_2,004_ ** _Retweets | **2,008** Likes_
> 
>  

 

+++[물]+++

 

 

“Hello, we are Stray Kids!” The group introduce themselves to the cameras.

 

They were filming another variety show. But this time it was after their first win; after Hyunjin and Jisung—who used to hate each other’s guts—hugged each other and cried for the longest time.

 

After Felix became fluent in two years’ time.

 

After Jeongin had become a formidable bender thanks to Woojin’s teachings.

 

After Minho and Seungmin learned to only flash their jazzy hands for special effect.

 

After Changbin had started calling himself ‘the iciest rapper alive.’

 

After Chan had sang the ‘Rubber Ducky’ song minutes before the cameras started rolling, much to everyone’s annoyance.

 

“And we’re known as the fifth element of the world,” Changbin adds with a grin.

 

“We sing. What are you talking about?” Seungmin chastises.

 

But Changbin just smirks. He knew what he was talking about.

 

**Author's Note:**

> honestly i was gonna do more but then i got tired so i was like.... post. hope you enjoyed it anyway and i hope it wasn't garbáge lmaooo


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